Pooh Sticks

There's gold in the trees
Trembling, expectant
Waiting for the wind's caress.
We walk below,
Flinching from thuds of sweet chestnuts and conkers
Covering our heads at the tell-tale crash
As they batter through branches and leaves to the ground.
Gathering sticks, bark clutched to hearts
And long fingers curl around spindles
We're on our way to a bridge,
THE bridge,
On the edge of the Ashdown Forest.
Others have gathered there,
Throwing from one side,
Rushing to the other.
But today, the current is old and tired
Half dammed with the weight of children's fervour.
We add our own to that obstacle course,
Throw acorns to try and dislodge them,
Our reward arriving with squeals from the other side.
And then it's back,
Back through nuts and leaves
Climbing fallen trees
Investigating old dens
Clearing the path for clattering horses galloping through,
And home.