Wild Swimming  

I ease myself into the shallows

where the new beech grows.

With arms approximating breast-stroke

I part the low branches

and wade further out.

My eyes adjust to a different light,

one breath for each step.

I tread through weeds which appear

to float up: comfrey, nettles, dock.

Snake-like bramble threatens to snag

and drag at me.

I must tread carefully:

this is not my home.

I look up through the watery green

to the canopies of sycamore,

oak, chestnut, beech.

The wind flows in currents.

New leaves fizz and froth.

The floor clears as I go deeper in.

Light trickles down to form pools.

Giant ferns, lords of this underworld,

stand proud, sucking in the liquid air.

A shoal of long-tailed tits flit

from branch to branch, as if

feeding on coral.

I have come far enough, and lean

for support against an old trunk.

In the still depths I watch

the tops tossed like waves

on an agitated sea.

Mark Saunders