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Ground and Sky on Wilden Marsh Buzzards sweep and wheel above, carving freedom in a fiery sky. They see the marsh stretch north to south, while I stand fixed by sight and sound, noticing the hidden, the near, the now. A cry drifts down, thin and sharp. I feel it in my chest: Yes.…
If Wilden Marsh has a pulse, then the River Stour is it. I feel that pulse on the mornings I stand on the South Pasture riverbank, looking out over the Stour toward the West Side. The reedbeds and tussocks seem to vibrate; mist drifts slowly across the water, and for a moment it feels like…
A Marsh Queen Cloaked in Red She does not strut. She slides. Low and lean through fetid pools and reed-choked mud, yellow eyes catching starlight, shadows breaking, bending, gone. Call her Vixen, but do not get her wrong. She is no bedtime tale. She is the quiet inside noise, a flicker between blinks, a vole’s…
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Thank you, Cathy. Happy Christmas to you and your family. 🙂
May you belong to the marsh for many years and Christmases to come! Happy Christmas from Cathy xx
Thank you, Brian. Merry Christmas and a Prosperous New Year to you and your family. 🙂
Excellent 👍
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