A Nostalgic Dream of Essex Rivers

Wide open breezy distance,
Tremendous skies, rippling water,
Sailing barges, hard working carriers,
Now rich men’s pleasure or a holiday-maker’s dream,
Muddy creeks, large and small,
Sea walls to stem a flooding river’s ravenous desire for space,
Heat of the sun’s unshaded strength,
Or twenty miles on a bicycle in teeming cold rain.
Wild wind, gentle zephyrs,
Skylarks winging their way heavenwards
Then flashing down to the nest beneath.
Busy little towns with riverside quays
And mile after mile of banks to walk.
Mud, mud and yet more mud as the tide recedes.
Be careful not to slip!
There’s Othona’s fortress, not visible,
But stones translated into St. Cedd’s dream,
St. Peter’s on the Wall.
At Stone empty cargo ships loom through a haze of heat
Awaiting the return of prosperity
While children play on the beach.
Time passes but nostalgia endures.