You know how it is - you are looking for your wellies and you find a gem!

Have to find somewhere I can use this - Prose Poetry - maybe a dream sequence.

She was walking by the river. The sound of the water running down over the stones and swishing past the reeds was soothing.

Small fish popped their noses through the water and slapped at the flies and insects caught in the upper film as they tried to escape from their riverbed nursery. 

It was early Summer and the riverbank grasses had reclaiming their beds usurped by the Winter floods. 

The trees in the wood had long ago left their frosty nakedness behind and were caressing the breezes that wafted their perfumes to the pigeon squabs in their timber framed homes.

Inside in the wood on a pathway that mirrored the twists and hills of the river path the old man and the young boy walked not close but still alongside her. 

The man was dressed in a white tunic, above this a wide hood was drawn to hide his face.

The boy was about ten years old and was dressed in a green waistcoat. His hair was long, golden when the sun burnished it as it flickered through the canopy.

His lower trunk and legs was hidden by the ferns that forms the undergrowth of all woods. 

The paths were starting to come closer. 

She could hear the pair talking, a jumble of sounds. Soon the paths would meet.