Mole hills are working their way across my lawn. Eventually I decide to take action. I cross the lawn, uneven underfoot from all the tunnels, to the most recent mound. I slide the earth to one side and find the tunnel with my finger. I insert the garden hose, pack earth on top and turn on the tap.
As I wait smoke rolls across the field from my neighbour’s bonfire. Around the hose patches of grass start to glisten, initially nearby then further off. Between breezes I hear the sounds of trickling water.
the fenland village wakes
to flood sirens