Sunday morning at the canal

Across the fields to Llangattock.
At the top of the hill
the latch clangs back on the metal gate.

The canal sleeps on.

Two boats, barely moving
on still brown water.
A hiker; exchange of a nod.

Perfect reflections of foliage.

Unseen flutter of wings;
the call of a wood pigeon.
Fat stone bridges.

The sound of my footsteps.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: