Riverhill (I)

There is no river
at Riverhill, the name comes
from Saxon: ‘rither’.

Riverhill (II)

Listen to jackdaws
chip at the edge of the breeze
staccato laughter.

Riverhill (III)

I am no gardener
and yet I love a garden
which rises and loves.

Cedrus libani

Lieutenant Henry Buckley died
on the fields of Waterloo
at just eighteen. This cedar
still stands over 100 feet tall
two hundred years later
in salute to the 15th Hussars
and the memory of this boy.

Female form (II)

She stands tall in the shadows
of rhododendrons in her sleek
blue-silver skin, inviting
fingertips to explore smooth
marble…her stone comes alive,
we draw new heat together.


From Little Everest, the wide sky
over trees, hundreds of years
of seed, of earth, of water
generations of horticulture
of botanists, plants and trees
some still standing proud –
the giant cedar of Waterloo.

The walled garden

Sheltered among rock, brick and gravel
plants from the Orient thrive:
rhododendrons, azaleas, Japanese maples
their presence draws on the eternal –
aeons of seed-leaping-to-life-to-seed,
growing tall in the shadows of mountains
in the long moments of their becoming.

© Steve Walter

Visit: https://abegailmorley.wordpress.com/2015/06/12/theres-no-river-at-riverhill/

Riverhill June 2015