Gloucesterhire by Esme

The soft call of a bird far away,

The emerald dappled light, mossy dampness swirls through the air. A small breeze rustles the green canopy of leaves, the bark bird hops into view and shakes its feathers and starts to call.

Trees crowd around like green watchers, looking over me just standing there watching, the canopy is  a safe tent protecting me from the outside world. The trees sway to and fro lulling me like a sea of green. The waterfall tinkles like fairies chimes , the forest starts to hypnotise me in to a sense of calm and poise.

The waterfall flows over cold stone splashing into a dark pool at the bottom of its cascade. A small shape swims through the brown mottled water. Two more shapes join in the parade. My reflection stares up into the endless greenery and out into the sky. I wonder what it sees.

Rotten leaves soggy and brown cover the mud floor, tawny light dances through the tree top world glancing off murky puddles lighting birds’ secretive worlds. I stumble out of my peaceful bubble in a daze, my legs are working but my mind is trapped thinking, just thinking of space. My legs carry me over the damp and mossy stile and I find myself back on the concrete road almost blinded by the light. Then I turn and amble home back to the smell of compost cow-pats and rich fudge cake.   

In my perfect world that would be the end but as it is there’s a story left untold so here I go…

As I walk the smells get stronger, I see my scraggly mongrel pup twirling round and round, his mouth clamped on the rope swing. No sign of that evil brother of mine. Everything is normal, little sister’s in the stream, mum and dad are sun bathing, don’t know why it’s freezing out here, but still it is too obscurely quiet. I reach the wooden gate I walk down the paved stone catwalk to the patio. On the table I see some cakes best not eat them after all little sister did say she “want to make cakesss” but that squash does look good with ice and fresh garden mint. Keep on walking then it hits me in the face. The long cold blast of water, river water from our river. Just keep on screaming. No it was not quiet -  it never is. it seems you can not escape the sounds of life even in the heart of Gloucestershire, the Cotswolds, England.