Dream Leaper

 

 

Dream Leaper

What a time it was,
When beeches wept and
Seasons’ memories lay neatly banked and rusting,
Deep beneath Caermalwas Fach’s
Cathedral sheltering boughs.

It was a time
For Crow to crown the naked larch
And, silhouetted, sway. Carved carrion menace
Scanned the scene. Silent, black and brooding.
Violent, as Baskin-belched profanity was retched.
Wrenched up from devil’s deep.

No time for innocents,
Beneath the raking, piercing
Kites’ eye glare. Flexed necks, and sliding tandem,
Beat-less East. Forsaking setting sun
And waning moon for distant roost
Before November’s starlinged rush
Blurred failing dusk stained blue.

It must have been
The patient heron, standing station, still
Above the racing, now rinsed rill
Scoured clean by late October’s rains,
That hinted of their run. Not so long ago
Perhaps the day before the spitting
Distant candle glittered in the village gloom.
A flashy link to lost remembered times.

Before the photograph.

Before the fleeing weaving dipper
Wefted warping banks.
The bobbing wagtail’s flashy daffy skirts
Not grey, but flouncing vibrant hue
Of spring’s regeneration.
A second’s glimpse.
Or maybe two?

Preserves your memory.

Forearm-long, and flexing,
Strong, beneath the current’s charging
Broken rippled waves. You’re glimpsed, then gone.
Taken. As if to trick me more, not powering up
But flowing down. Resistance rocked and
Pebble pocked.

Not all that’s left me.

The eye, if eye it is.
The blurry, time slurred tail.
Yet in my mind,
I know.

No thrumming line,
No arching rod. No vice-wrapped
Muddler, mouthed. Size 6.

I thrilled.

The neck hairs stood.
The body chilled. No angler’s tale
Of one that got away, but now, at last

Dream Leaper.

 

JW   9/11/2020

7 thoughts on “Dream Leaper

    • Hello Amelia,
      Yes I’m pretty certain…as to which I couldn’t say definitely after the split second view I got. I’ve always seen small smudge marked fish in our stream and our neighbour says he used to spear salmon every autumn, many years ago. I’ve been seriously looking for two years now, and this is the first time I’ve seen one, hence the excitement. The stream runs into the River Cothi, and in turn the river Twyi, which is a recognised salmon/seatrout river, but as in many rivers nationally, numbers have declined massively in recent years for all sorts of reasons.
      Best wishes
      Julian

  1. Pingback: Big Fish, Bog Spills, Real Water and the realities of Atlantic Salmon populations: looking back to look forward | 'Owned by everyone': the plight, poetry and science of the salmon

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