The scent of wild garlic plumps the air
in the narrow, deep valley of the brook.
The oak trees either side
reach across, clasping hands,
trapping the heat and the smell.

A trout ***** up stream,
jumping the shallow current.
Crouching on the pebble beach,
two children watch it land,
plunk,
in the depths further up.

'Fish! That's what we need, fish!'
He blunders up the river,
hands outstretched,
as though to catch the trout in his palms.

Deepening the rock pool,
scuds scurrying out of sight,
the girl notices the thin, black water slug
stretched out on her chalky forearm.

Pincering it off with her fingers,
she doesn't scream until
spotting the ****** mark,
as the leech reaches up
to wrap itself round her finger.

With a flick of her wrist,
it splacks onto a dry, flat rock.
She crushes its body with a pebble,
and the smell of iron mingles with the garlic.