I breathe in beauty from my bower, as my boots swing above the brook.

I hear the scurble of the stream as it scurries over stones, and the scritching scratch of Artemis, scrabbling for bones. 

And a flabby tubby burble as the swashy water tumbles in the plastic tunnel liner through the limestone bridge that funnels, the day’s rain from the moor.

Past the fields and fences, festooned with fluffy fronds from lambs that gawk and gambol as the golden weir gushes, rusty peaty water through the valleys and the culverts

I pass the gaudy, sludgy torpor of the pond by the meander, and the dragonflies that startle rising flashing from the bushes as my busy wellies bustle crushing boggy bristly rushes.

I see silvery flickering glimpses of the fishes in the reeds, as the frothy waters swirl, bearing branches burrs and seeds, and dancing shadows and reflections from the clouds and fresh green trees.

The brambles, sparrows, crows and finches sing a battle of the bands as a scary creeping sickness quiets the tractors, cars and vans.

A falcon hovers hungry, voles and mice are in its sights, Until the purple streaks of sunset usher bats towards the night.

 

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