Day Of Rest
The first day of worship in this the month of October and
still the summer sun lights the fenland sky, bright happy sunshine that would
warm the back of any eel catcher checking his basket traps or reed cutters who
spend their only day of rest tending their gardens.
That dark fen soil
now turned by stainless ploughshare lay rich and black, coal black, shining
like a carpet of jet across the open acres while cool waters snake off towards
the tidal rivers of the wash and morning dew steam rises from gate timbers and
cobble path.
Autumn chill still
rides the early mornings and leaves of gold start falling upon the marshland
paths that skirt dyke and drove.
