A Bend in the River

Whispering with the hands

A quiet has descended on the river, sudden, like an in-breath. The birds have seen something I haven’t. Perhaps it is a ritual they undertake at this time of day, triggered by a certain quality of light or air. Or they could just be waiting for me to pass by. In the riverside meadows the grass is now waist high. Somewhere in there are the nests of curle…