This is based on my previous post about walking down the Hesketh marshes following the River Ribble as it nears the sea, and the resulting comments from my post.
Thanks to those who will recognise their own words and thoughts used with some license from me.
Man is baffled to find a use
But reluctant to ignore.
Green looks grey as seen through gauze.
Walkers on these bleak estuarine urban fringes
Remember Magwitch and more haunted Kentish marsh.
Damp sticky, and chill, and lonely levée.
Trodding above tide line - drifted sticks and plastic,
And logs, and odd wrecked shoes, and bladder seaweed,
And rope abandoned, and the odd dead fish,
And planks and wooden beams
With hints of erstwhile trouble out at sea.
After. My photos confirm the gloom.
I write and show and readers say d’accord,
Except for one remembering the same
Without the gauze, now blazing sun,
And finding beneath a rare defiant tree
Welcome shade to munch her lunch
And eager,
Celebrating her chance to use
This expanded open scape.
