Gliding on the Isis, Dad at the castle
Not hindered by the usual watern bustle
Summer is come, my sister’s a flower
Unfurling to sweet sixteen’s tune in this hour
Dog roses and nettles, poplar and willow
Leaning over the bow’s bitter pillow
The world’s upside down – Didn’t need the self-posed illusion
To prove it. Elderflower, wine, and face masks are an odd infusion
But I lie, steampunk Docs in first position, stilled in time
Immortalising it in few photos and poor rhyme
Poor as my experiences are rich, but capturing to perfection
The aimlessness of mine, of our, wonderings’, wanderings’, their recollection.
The Magdalen Boathouse opened today, at last! My father treated us to a punting expedition this afternoon. I've loved this activity since I can remember, it is a quintessentially Oxfordian thing to do. It feels like a bit of normality is coming back, but guiltily, I kind of liked having the river to myself.