The River Wharfe
________________
Oozing
in a deceptively indeterminate way,
the water on the high ground of Cam Fell
divides;
And that which settles to the east,
drip by drip and day by day,
aquires permanence as it collects
in upper reaches of Langstrothdale.
The new-borne stream
is gently weaned in limestone beds
sympathetic to the water's needs.
Cups and hollows moulded in the smooth grey rock
hold nests of pebbles where the water plays
then spreads in shallow pool on clean-washed stone,
reflecting cooler patterns of the sun.
Spills over one step -
then another -
and through a pile of pebbles, in dryish weather
slips away: disappears from sight
as though becoming shy of so much light and open air.
Deeply it delves into bedrock through hidden clefts,
leaving dry expanse of limestone steps.
Sun-dried clumps of moss darken the grey rock
where children skip from one step to the next
and put their ear to narrow rifts -
sometimes hearing water's music murmuring below.
Gently then,
emerges once again the water from its hiding place
and ripples with pace renewed and dances on,
enticing us to laughter in our wonder
at its fickleness.
In increments it grows
as now it flows between more lofty flanks of mother rock
upon whose slopes the rainfall sinks as quickly as it falls,
filters through narrow rifts and bedding planes
and in dark chambers, plunges over cool cascades
until it levels with the valley floor.
And there it issues in a gentle surge
and merges with the flowing river.
A river now - no more a stripling stream,
as it passes from Hubberholme to Buckden:
small as yet in force but growing in determination.