Still missing Becky’s squares and not capable of stringing much more than a sentence together this evening, I thought I’d reblog one of my poems. Next to my own River Exe, the Teign is one of my favourite rivers anywhere. This poem is my tribute to it.
Today is the day, but as always I plan to have a birthday month, so I spent yesterday walking beside the river Bovey. This is the result.
I contemplate the transience of the River Bovey.
Every molecule of water that flows past my feet
has a destiny, whether it is to evaporate,
to splash onto the shingle that scratches at my soles,
sink into the peaty soil
or connect with the vastness of the sea.
Every leaf, green, frosted or baked dry by the sun
will crumble, flake along the route
or wash up intact on a beach,
ten or ten thousand miles away.
Every little stick tumbles and rolls
between east and west river bank,
to be claimed by a golden retriever
or gathered by a green consumer
to give home a few minutes of warmth.
From its source between Chagford and Shapley commons,
the Bovey glides, swirls…
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