But rushing caught meRushing from spring to sea,A rushing whim to see.
The river is lost In fluid grey ghosting Between earth and sky.
The blush in the River smiles upon the surging Flow of late floods.
Beyond the mill the river slows her pace To pool and calm the anxious breaching Dace. The river, wide and deep and banked by rushes Paints supple waving fronds with deft weed brushes. Her tangled curves weave knotted rafts of scrub From fallen trees to shield the shoals of Chub And darting packs of Pike…