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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
6 years ago 
