Robert Davey

Moles

Molehills are working their way across my lawn towards the flower bed. Eventually I take action. I cross the lawn, uneven underfoot from all the tunnels, to the most recent mound. I slide the earth to one side and find the tunnel with my finger. I insert the garden hose, pack earth on top and turn on the tap.

As I wait smoke rolls across the fields from my neighbour's bonfire. Around the hose, patches of grass start to glisten, initially nearby, then further off. Between breezes, I hear the scattered sounds of water trickling.

storm surge
the fenland village wakes
to flood sirens