Foreign Correspondent

“Look –see, here!” he cried
Beckoning me over like a geography teacher
And gestured with his trigger finger at the side of the mountain
“This” he grinned, “This is the life giver”

I peered down quizzically at the damp ground
Pulling sharply at a tuft of grass to see further
But it was tough and resilient so much so
That I had to tear at it ripping a fingernail in the process

“You see now” my guide spoke with derisory patience
“Yes, yes I do” Yet it was only a trickle
Less than a pin prick scar in the sleeping hillside
But it remained unchecked as I forced a thumb over it

My guide smiled patronisingly and turned to
Point his silver arm at the valley below
And the blue snake slithering toward open sea
Then murmured softly, unheard, toward the horizon
And meandered away, unhurried, down
The darkening hill