River Camp


I wake in the dawn to the sound of lapping water and the pungent scent of river mud.  I stick my head out of the tent flap to watch the peaceful Thames.  A hatch of midges dances, erratically catching the first rays of the sun.  The grasses at eye level glisten with dew and silvered cobwebs join the green blades into a lethal network.

Lazily I roll over, yawn and stretch.  A cacophony of birdsong separates into distinct sounds: trills, squeaks, coos of wood pigeons, chattering chaffinches, melodies in harmony and à  capella airs.

The siren song of the river beats at my will until I squirm out of my sleeping bag and pull on yesterday’s clothes.  Bare feet in cold, wet grass, then mud squidges between my toes as I push the dinghy with a rasping rattle until it floats.  I clamber in.

The current takes hold and the boat drifts peacefully past pollarded willows, their stubby trunks supporting an effusion of shaving brush fronds.

A pair of swans glides past, with four cygnets in line astern.  I spy a gaggle of fluffy baby moorhens under the bank with the triangles of their parents’ upturned tails nearby.

A silent shadow swoops above, neck tucked in, as the heron searches intently for its breakfast in the murky green water.  I am content.


The Creative Bloomings prompt for today:  “You’ve heard of Day Camp, Band Camp, “Fat” Camp and of course, Poet Camp. Create a “Camp” of your own and write about it. Get as descriptive as you can and don’t leave out the imagery!”     My River Camp is a reblog from a couple of years ago, written from experience, as is usual with me – I loved solo camping as a child, and  was lucky to have trusting parents!

About https://vivinfrance.wordpress.com

All poetry, prose and pictures posted here, except where otherwise stated, is my own, and may only be used elsewhere with my expressed permission. Please don't be inhibited from correcting my bloopers and making suggestions: Most of what I post here is instant, ill-considered and off-the-cuff, in serious need of editing.
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