In the woods

there’s the bed of a brook

now dried and arid.

We can view the scene from

an ancient, loose timbered bridge

but there’s not much to see

if we do.

 

An idea!

Build a new pond.

Clear the sticks and stones,

the leaves and cones,

lay down a sheet,

hold it with rocks

and let the rain do the rest.

 

We can line it with

shade loving plants,

ivy, hostas

perhaps build a rockery.

Our fairy tale piece

of woodland magic.

 

The rain is steady

but then so are the leaks.

The sheet is pierced

by nature’s minutiae.

 

The copse now surrounds

a blanket of drying

detritus that’s as far

from fairy tales

as it’s possible to be.

 

He collects up

his week’s work

and re-thinks it through.

Never mind dear she says,

maybe next year.