Cold rain fallen

Caillou runs over the farmtrack

Not the quiet brook this
that runs dry summer time
the spring stream between
green banks damselflied
and pitted with paw prints
in the night mud.

Not slow and clear
frogged and leafed
but troubled mud-swilled
from sodden fields.

Rain-swollen it races
its black-boughed cargo
across bed and bank
too full to care


The deluge ended at the end of the afternoon and the sun came out briefly. I took some photos of the wet. Unfortunately they don’t do justice to the scale. They only show the fast-running water and the deep lakes of it. They don’t show the sound of boots sinking into water and mud at every step, nor that the ditches are too wide to jump across and too deep to wade across. Fierce weather! It’s raining again…


This is the water running down the ditch outside the barn,


spilling over into the path that leads down to the bottoms


into another very fast-flowing ditch

full ditch

along the willows.


The stream stayed within its banks at this point though it has carried away the dam made when the woodpecker’s tree was blown down. Just a part of the trunk is left.

dam gone

There is now no culvert. The tufts of sedge mark where the path should cross the stream, which now flows straight over and cascades down the other side.

Caillou full

Between the ditch and the stream a lake is forming. Too deep to wade across in places.



more waterland

It’s a lovely natural milieu, but it won’t stay like this. The farmers upstream will have dammed up the source of the stream and it will dry up completely if the summer is as dry as last year. There won’t be a drop of drinking water for the wildlife, nothing for the trees. The frogs will do whatever frogs do when their water source dries up, and the ducklings, well, I don’t know what will happen to them.

There are natural events and environments.  Sometimes they get a bit out of hand, like at the moment, but everything goes back into its bed eventually.  The willows were planted along the bottoms almost a hundred years ago because there is always water there. Except that often nowadays, when the maize or the sugar beet takes priority, there isn’t. It’s when we tamper with things that lasting damage occurs. I’m hoping for at least a bit of rain over the summer.




Bridge of sorrows

Open link night at dverse. A trio of tanka.




over the stream

a bridge—beneath water runs

a stream bright

with spangled hopes and fish leaps

a bridge across sorrows


sorrows bridge night

and day you and me the past

and what is to come

streams of forgotten future

unknown past—bright water flows


beneath the bridge

a stream kingfisher darting

hopes leap silver fish

where sorrows flow wingless

yet we are all kingfishers