Grimbeau

Six!

Meandering, lost in lowland dank, warm and cold, smells of fresh wet cotton, rotting mud and musk. Slithery bank, drips from the willow. Slip purry do dah! Nearly lost it there. Up and lever and the flat. Through the overhanging and the corners a goal post, the rail on the footbridge. Walking the dog: Where is the dog?

‘weirooweet!’

Thunder tread and rustle and

‘harghahahharhgh’

It’s me!