Breathing slowly,
A flowing glass,
This deep dark tide,
A pulsing vein,
Captivates us
With its presence,
Hypnotizes
With its weight,
Its gravity,
Dense dignity,
That dwells within
These river banks.
The River Lee has an amazing heavy glassy quality right now that feels alive.
(02.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The river mourns, bedraggled willows weep,
their tousled hair drenched in its silent tears.
Its darkened waters meet the dreary mood,
the sun withholds its glow in sympathy.
Otters frolic no more and stay indoors,
above autumnal leaves begin to fall.
The rushes twitch, and coots peer out, as below
their doors the heavy cortege wearily flows.
Perched on his lonely post, dressed in funereal
black, the cormorant bows, pays his respects.
A lowly swan takes flight and passing honks,
‘Alas our green and pleasant land is dead!’
By the end of our walk the sun had come out, but much of our morning stroll had a very different character.
(01.11.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Is this river alive?
I think so. She flows
along our valley birthing
life where e’er she goes:
the hazy clouds of flies
that flock this time of year,
the clacking coots upon
comical towering nests,
the dragonflies that briefly dart
by deer that stalk its edges.
Small fish flick within her
currents, whilst willows lean
admiring her fine looks.
Some days she dresses down
in sombre darkened brown,
in winter black and white,
but today the sun is out,
it’s time for brighter colours.
She is our giving mother
nurturing our valley
with her languid love
and flowing tender tears,
and whilst she does she sings
her lapping melody.
This river is alive,
of that there is no doubt.
I’ve been listening to the BBC’s adaptation of Robert MacFarlane’s ‘Is A River Alive?’ Living next to the River Lee (or Lea), I find it easy to grasp what he means.
(10.05.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Ode for the Day 