We ride tonight for tomorrow may never come

Through Ashdown Forest the sunrises and bakes the land early for a late march morning. Still, the ground remains saturated, yet the overflow gullies and streams cut out into the grass heath footpaths have stopped.

What remains is the the water flowing along the main stream. This no less sounds nearly twenty years old. Back to my childhood of rolling miniture waterfalls on the pond, the stream ti Ashdown Forest carves over tree branches and round corners, bubbling... no different is that sound of gushing water you hear when visiting the fish pond shops.

Maybe childhood was not as bad as I remembered,
maybe that was what got me into this career;
the need to play with water
listen to it changing tune and paths,
dependent on the days weather.

 ----

If when passing places, you meet no people,
it does not matter, for the river still is there,
it does not stop, for continual motion is it's job.

At night it is asking questions, wondering where people retreat,
the search and belonging, the passing of time,
will at times allow it to rest, for it is at peace.

It may see more in winters, and less in summers,
it even runs a close shave of death when summers peak.
Time still tells it, it will be back, the land sits ready for it,
like a tree dormant through winter.

The tree knows no end,
and even after a hundred years,
the tree still stands.
The tree waits for the river, sucking water from beneath the ground.
The river see's its job, eternity, continual motion.

The tree knows time is limited but takes a new form,
materials for the people passing,
a returning of the energy to the ground.

The river knows the tune it holds,
people passing will stop and stare,
listening for the rolling on the waterfalls.

----

 We ride tonight, for tomorrow may never come, the river will continue its motion.