Clear Waters

The tiny Wagtail,

Picks her way carefully among the rocks.

Keeping scutcheon clean and white,

And after a cold and hungry night. 

searches out sweet treats for her flock. 

The common ducks wash and preen,

Unabashed at being seen 

Bathing publicly 

In their morning routine. 

And the cheerful whistled tune of a local song, 

Is caught up by the swifts 

As pair by pair, 

they flit along,

In the soft grey green river mists

Villagers fetching morning bread,

Hail as they pass

The chattering stones on the river bed 

Spin lace through rippled glass.  

And couples murmur quietly their daily “Quehaceres” 

In a lilting gentle baritone dispelling all their cares.  

And blending with their Cántabro 

With a tone so  

Constant, clear 

The river runs through Limpias. 

And I find myself, just here:

Beneath the olive-brown shoulder of the hill, 

its yellow, flowered banks reflected in bright hue.

From fresh mountain rill,

To the valley  

And then on through,

The clouds lift their rainy  mantle giving way to the warming blue. 

Beside the still and peaceful Áson,

I give my thanks to you. 

For Dad

26th April 2024

Joseph 

Morriss