Ladybower Reservoir - V McGarvey cc-by 2025
3 o'clock in the morning staring at what I can see of the ceiling,
I'm in the country but I don't feel like I'm in the country,
I cannot see or hear anything but I know it's out there.
It's odd in the quiet night in a dark room I could be anywhere,
Anywhere that is dark and quiet, any part of the country, any country.
And below, the brick souls of Ashopton and Derwent, Derwent Woodlands Church and Derwent Hall,
Submerged so that we can drink,
Was there a choice?
The luxury of quiet, is it peaceful or disturbing, the luxury of safety,
As others in far distant places, wait for the sirens, the whirring of drones,
In the pitch,
No comfort of slumber,
Submerged by concrete, they have no choice.
I wake up and I still cannot see it but I know it's there.
Coffee and toast, swing open the door there it is.
The walls are hills, the floor is brambles, the ceiling a wide grey sky,
And the Y of Ladybower.
There it is, the same reassuring beauty as yesterday.
Taken for granted.
Ashopton gone, never to rise from silt, Derwent, with its occasional drought breath.
Whilst others open their doors, if they have doors, to unpredictability,
What will the sky look like?
What will the floor look like?
What will the fields look like?
What will the streets look like?
Ashopton and Derwent drowned.
Gaza City and Kyiv, drowning in concrete rubble.