Water water even here
Kingsley followed the babbling brook, it’s beauty mesmerising him. The child in him saw wondrous things, patterns that danced, pebbles that glittered, crowfoot became forests. Sticklebacks became families, crayfish turned into monsters that hide under drifting starwort. This chalk stream was alive and protected by drifts of cattails and forget me-not’s.
Water-voles built tunnels that carried him to labyrinthine like underground worlds, kingfishers became spaceships traveling the universe. Willows carried him back to medieval times, yes all Kingsley needed to dream was moving water. Whilst other children played football or spun tops Kingsley explored nature. Not for him was pteridomania. He preferred social reform.
Footnote: Charles Kingsley 1819-1875 produced an interesting body of literature.
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A fine day at MevagisseyThis Post Has 2 Comments
Nice poetry to ear.
It is kind of you to say so, thank you