Thursday, October 23, 2014

Kingfisher seen at Grange in Borrowdale.

The curtain of rain opens momentarily, and amid the stippled surface of the living river I glimpse you the only stationary, still and silent presence in this theatre of water surveying the ever changing boundaries of your Kingdom.

My movement may have released you from your task for like an arrow exploding into movement released from the bow like stick now swaying with emptiness you take an electric blue trajectory across the water suddenly swerving to rest further upstream, the arrow of out reaching wings withdrawn by your side in repose.

Kingfisher you are an elusive monarch on whom few human eyes may rest these days in a noisy well frequented Lake District. Yet beyond my sharply drawn breath a silence is released within me to join with the spirit of this serpentine river now singing to the drumbeat of the stinging rain as it shapes this autumn torrent.

Soon I will draw apart on my own chosen trajectory but if you look into my eyes there may still be a track of electric Kingfisher blue seen when my soul is silent in the
turbulence the wounded fisher king made whole again.

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