Flag Fen

It was just yesterday
in geological time
less than four thousand years ago
that men and women
who walked this wet world
built a wooden causeway across the marshes
and an island platform in the rising water.

Not a place to live
no dwellings here,
more of a holy place,
where they appeased gods
of climate change as the rivers rose.
Swords and daggers of fine-honed bronze
were placed with care
not chucked at random
in the lake.

Today in our own time
we walk raised paths and roads
along the channeled rivers
and the Dutch-drained wetlands.

A couple on bikes
stand in contemplation.
Where have you come from?
Flag Fen, we say, have you been there?
Oh no, that’s the past
they’re all dead, aren’t they?
I live in the present, me.

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