Poetry

Leaves on the Blue Trail

by

Glen Wilson

'You can't step in the same river twice'- Heraclitus

I passed the hole in the hedge
that went down to the stream
behind our old house.

I surveyed its pebble peaks,
overhanging brambles framed
the modest river gush.

The shallow river trench provided
escape from the world for I was more
caterpillar than butterfly.

I used a branch as a swing,
an elderly trunk held our tree house
ringed with receding camouflage.

I once fell in the river playing
blind man's bluff, taking off the bandage
to see the world rearranged.

Now I climbed down through the twigs.
I heard a branch crack
followed by the sound of running,

I rushed round the corner only to see
a trickle of water wind and disappear
into the undergrowth.