The Scent of Water II

The scent of water
Is an irresistible lure to the traveller,
For without it there can be no place to rest.
In the morning, my grandmother
Would put the day’s butter and milk in a pail
And carry it to the stream, to rest between rocks.
``Don’t touch,” she would admonish me
As I dabbled my feet.
But I had my jam jar, string tied round the top,
To dangle in the water, catching sprats
As they swarmed through the gullies in the rocks.
And she would smile when I brought them back to camp,
And fetch the butter from the stream,
Melting it in the pan over the morning’s fire,
To fry the sprats for breakfast.
If the men had been fishing, they would bring back trout,
And sometimes salmon, the king of fish,
For supper.

At night, the gurgling of the stream,
Which gave us so much,
Would sing me to sleep.


Gail