Whitewashed walls, looking like alabaster silk,
window boxes and baskets throwing flashes of red and pink
invite me to stop and take it in a while.
A pretty scene that would never fail to make you smile.
With pleasing symmetry, matching chimneys point to the sky;
laden clouds, containing gradients of grey up high.
A pair of front windows are eyes out to the world
that follow me as I walk away, and at the path I turned.
Lock keepers are a thing of the past, who lives there now?
Is it as idyllic as it seems, or do passers-by disallow
the quiet times, with their stomping shoes and peering eyes,
like me I suppose, although I didn’t mean to pry.
I come across the lock, and see it is in use this day
two narrow boats approach, one tethered and grey;
the stronger one gleaming as it takes the wheel
and ferry the owners to places only they can conceal.
I sit a while on the arm of smooth painted wood
worn by many hands as they open or close it it after the flood
of water, allowing painted barges to rise and fall
as audiences gather to watch and look enthralled.
The bargeman is bemused, it’s all in a day’s work for him
and his wife, who get on with it without stress or whim.
This lifestyle seems inviting, I stop and chat a while
with the man in charge, who answers my questions with a smile.
The water gushes out of the gate, the level rises in the lock;
its Victorian walls laden with moss looking like green flock.
Suddenly a whiff of watery ozone fills my nostrils,
freshening my thoughts and clearing out my own fossils.
I realise there is more to life than the bilge that fills our heads
as we focus on work day to day, and on getting ahead.
Cobwebs need to be cleared, allowing us to find pleasure
in the small details, like the bargeman who worked at his leisure.
