My dog and I used to walk this path in the hot summer sun. The shade of the trees giving much relief for both of us. He loved the water and those tiny fish would swim away from his hulking great body! I miss my dog, and that lovely walk.
At the wooden bridge, beside
under frayed dare-devil
rope-swing, we small-fry gather;
splash-paddle in the sun-filled
slipstream, our expectant
jam jars perched ready on banks
for contents of day-glo
nets on bamboo poles,
skim-dunked, dipped into laughing
sparkle, we seek out elusive
piscine lurkers, shoal-darters,
sticklebacks, shimmer and shift
in ever-changing shallow-shadows.
We graft all afternoon, rewarded
by encounters with small wildness,
iridescent scale inspection
through jars held up to the light.
A busy day meeting our fishy friends,
our neighbours of the water;
we send them back before barefoot-flapping,
wet and toasted, up the hill home.
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