Down by the weak stone bridge,
Goldfinch and Great Tit pinball through bronzing bankside sycamore.
Splash playfully black against a lead heavy sky,
Amongst blown away leaves.
Suddenly, swelling bubbles blister the river’s surface, revealing two slickly glossed contours.
Gliding equidistant, rising, dipping rhythmically against murky sepia current, gently drifting upstream, sadly out of sight.
A lifetime searching, then two come along, beautifully, at once.