'Don't go far' - they said
For we were leaving within the hour

I walk briskly down past the old mill
Across the bridge and along the stream
My hands dissolve in the running water
I have minutes, an hour - no matter
Skin cells slough away and part of me is left
Here, in the land that birthed my ancestors

I think of the boy Arthur turned fish
Learning the ways of the badger, the hawk
Empathy comes easy when you are that
Becoming the land, I am
He, the fisher king , healer of the land
Now it's the other way 'round
We're all out foraging for antivirals - in sunlight, in greenery
Kneeling in the meadows asking for redemption.

I pick posies of feverfew and wood avens
Dog rose 'twines round elder
Purple fog nestles next to thistles, ox eye daisies
Saplings of birch, blackthorn
I stuff plantain in my pockets
The wild garlic wilts yellow along the way
I pluck seeds and put them in my mouth
They, like the white blackthorn giving way to sloes
Bookend this spring of our discontent.

But here, by the water - how could anyone be anything but at peace?
I lift my hands and sunshine trickles down my elbows
Swooping back to the water, they stop mid flight
A deer stands in the field beyond, and behind that the oak
The blackbirds are stirring the leaves
I follow the tadpoles and fishes downstream
Into all the waterways of England
Look - there is my heart caught on the roots of an ash
my lungs swirling around wet stones
my insides kissed by the branches of willow

I cry all the way home.

'Did you go far?'

'Not far', I say, and pick up my bags.