Waterfalls

We're on our hols in the Lake District.

Beatrix Potter! Grasmere gingerbread! Peaceful and powerful water! How lovely.

Reminds me slightly of something I once wrote for my daughter quite a while ago now on an equally watery holidayr:


Immersion

It never stopped that summer.
Rain hammered daily from swollen black skies;
a gathering canopy.

We sulked in our caravan.
Our first family holiday spent bitter and drenched;
heavy shouldered by fate.

Nothing here to delight you, we
fretted above you. Just two years and drowning
under adult surrender.

By the fourth day you'd tired of
chasing beads down the window, of crayoning rainbows
that wouldn't appear.

So you made your own mind up
and bolted for freedom, on tippytoes stretching
to throw open the door.

Unleashed you ran freely, your
happy toes squelching, your whole body laughing
as you blazed round the field.

Our holiday postcard.
Our beautiful daughter.
Dancing barefoot as pierced clouds
streamed rivers from heaven.

:: Waterfalls by TLC