by Sandymac27 Mar 2014
Statuesque in Nellie's burn,
that slapped and sloshed over mossy stones,
a vast ocean to my childhood self
with spawn and newts and minnows.
Knee high in prohibited shoes,
bent double, guddling.
Pitting wits with tiny fish, with tiny hands
alive in the cold cleansing cataracts.
Murkier now the pools are deeper
and time runs faster than the burn,
although the source springs on eternal
its salving flow is gift enough.
Moving flashes of iridescent clarity
come shining through the stream.
A transient promise of success,
flowing though still fumbling fingers.