The River Flows

Water flows freely past me fast from the drop into a pool darker and deeper in colour. The shadow of the rainbow trout swimming free reminds me when I was a boy hanging string and a safety pin over the wall into the river under the bridge. The worm dangling on the end teasing the mouth of the fish. The fish looking up at another boy’s face as the excitement of catching me and taking me home for his tea shows on his inocent face.

The rocks of all colours shapes and sizes stretch for miles, water level so low no rain for weeks the river shape changed again over night. New pools trapping the small fish for the King to feast on. Reflections from the Oak like a mirror image reflected in the water, the Robins red breast and dropped wing, beak open wide as she calls for her mate.

Lens cap removed the old man sits down as he has down many times shuffling his behind to get comfy in his little River retreat. Knees bent he makes his peace asking for nice things to happen, he says thank you for all the wonderful sights he’s has witnessed in his quest for beautiful images to capture and write about.

It’s warm he feels relaxed scanning the river for movement eyes trained to lock onto anything that moves. Yellow breast grey tail so long wagging up and down like a little toy fully charged. Snatching insects it’s reactions needed to collect food for her young brood of 5 waiting with mouths open wide. They hear her coming who will get the feast this time.

Bird songs echo all around like music playing a song written and inspiring from the surrounding beauty. Memories flood his happy mind he listens for the call of his elusive bird only seen a few times in his long interesting life, adventure and sights only he remembers.

The Sycamore leaf floats into the small still pool spinning slowly, a little raft it waits for the flutter of of the Red Admiral to come and take refuge on it. Blue sky above green grass all round peace and quiet no sound. Tree branches reaching out for light.

Rope hangs down stick lying horizontal waiting for the next bottom to sit on and scream as they swing across the water wondering if it will snap or not.

The water flows and I look into the depths and see the River in Belize city a river so different with crocodiles and Anaconda snake, Pelican and Parrots flying above a Caribbean ocean.

Currents so different from the Greta, the river in India I spent hours on looking for Kingfisher, Rivers in Turkey where i saw my first Bitten a shy bird and snakes swimming from shore to shore. I watched as the Common Kingfisher hovered above me before tucking it’s wings back and driving headfirst into to crystal clear water.

Rivers in Northern Ireland angry rivers with sadness in the depths and ripples crying for Peace to flow calm so the boy and Dad can fish again him telling him of how the troubles started. Sitting there without looking over his shoulder at every noise or movement wondering is this my time, will my son see my die for being a certain religion. Witness death so young and haunt him for the rest of his life.

Rivers fast and slow some dull some glow making their way to a lake or the sea the boat will carry me far away from land, my oar in hand making my my way to distance sand some golden some brown, Robinson springs to mind how he was left on an island the song still plays from the old Black and White TV Set buttons to turn on no voice control.

The little River his small boy feet walked in 63 looking for tidlers and cat fish, lifting rocks, scimming stones. His short pants just above the water level careful don’t get them wet Step Mother waits in doors. He wants to learn to swim but can’t, the Army will teach him later in life

Rivers making different sounds like music from different groups or composer’s, rythams and beats some deep so high, river deep mountain high. Fading the water noise is like the end of the 45 as it approaches the centre of the deck ending quiet to hear no more.

Ducks and Ducklings battle to go up stream staying with mum to live the dream, one of swimming with their family to the places mum shows them. Places to hide when the Mink comes. Feeding on the insects and vegetation on the banks green and lush.

The Heron watches the movements of fish underneath the clear water, which one shall I have my kind Beak like spear ready at and second the break the water surface plunge and take the little or big fish for his survival.

Rivers having many different species some big some small all colours and all with the same aim in life to feed swim breed and multiply. Rods and hooks trying to catch them, other fish trying to eat them it must be a hard life what ever species they are.

Many generations have played in the rivers spent many hours in the sunshine swimming on hot summer days. Picnics and Lovers meeting for the first time on the river bank. Stick races, boat races. Water Vole once a common sight very rare now but still found in places on the river.

The Mink released from farms now a common problem taking birds and fish, a pest for the fisherman and wildlife watcher. The Otter swims free in the pools looking for fish, never seen by Blackie an image he craves.

Rivers i have seen all over the globe will run forever have many generations many wild birds, animals. Banks will be washed away roots will hand down the force of the water washing the bank away as the river floods for days of heavy rain. Boats wills move along them, Salmon and Trout will still run and jump the weir making there way up to their spawning grounds.

The river still draws me to its beauty.