The trickle of the stream

Was the first sound I heard

It’s too hard to describe

In just a word

 

The engine of the jet-ski

Roared into my mind

As open water strolled

So I could find

 

The flutter of the little bird

Like the trickle of the stream

Hard to know what, audibly

He meant

 

The fishing rod that hooks its prey

Reels it in so quick

His son says; “Dad, we can’t

Take him home to eat.”

 

The lead is pulled – it’s taut

She can’t wait to have a swim

I let her off the lead –

She races in

 

She feels something rub against her leg

The fish that’s caught and then released

He scurries from the open water

To the creek

 

The girl sunbakes, oblivious

To other goings-on

Her main concern’s

To get an even tan

 

The bird comes to sit beside her

As the boy gives the dog a pat

Her tail wags, she shakes the water

From her back

 

One day in the life

A communal atmosphere

The sandy beach, near my home

Over here.

Published by Owen Tilley