The Bridge at Stainforth

 

The Bridge at Stainforth

 

The narrow, pot-holed lane slopes down

to the tiny hump bridge, then a final bump

and it climbs again to a gentle, stony ridge

and the ten or twelve buildings that are Stainforth.

 

It’s sunny, hot and moist, a clammy sort of heat.

I meet two friends chatting on a bench at the Craven Heifer.

I sit with them and quench my parching throat

before returning to the moon bridge down below.

 

It’s cooler here; the beer has done the trick.

The water looks cool and inviting as it crashes and splashes

into the frothing, small but deep pool below the waterfall

where three little boys play polo with a yellow plastic ball.

 

Suddenly, a bigger boy with straggling blond hair

accepts a dare to jump and join the others.

The tsunami-like wave smothers their screams

and rekindles my memories of long-lost youth.