A river of words

My 9 year old daughter, Annie, and I have been spending some quiet time together, in these unfestive moments of midwinter, observing nature and writing. Recently we spent time by a local river and she wowed me with these perfectly poised written words... 

 

I sat on the river bank, in the shade of an alder tree, watching the green water turn silver at the rising of the moon. The trees were black silhouettes against the red sky and long shadows were cast by the setting sun. Willow trees hung their orange branches over the river, dipping them into the cool water. Green waterweed waved in the current and tiny minnows darted about until they saw me and vanished into the waterweed leaves. In the middle of the river was a small patch of land, a tiny island. Yellow stones covered it and all around one side were tall lime-coloured water rushes that shook in the breeze. A crow landed on the island. It had dark eyes, shiny black feathers and ash-coloured legs and beak. I hid in the long grass so not to scare it. The crow went over to a biggish stone and used his claws to turn it over. Underneath was a wriggling pink worm which the crow immediately snapped up in his beak. I heard a rustling noise from the opposite bank. The crow looked up and flew away. Suddenly, out of a hole in the river bank, popped a small, round head. I recognised it at once. It was a water vole.

 

Annie Maudsley, 3 Jan 2021.