Long Way Back   Ashness Bridge to Derwentwater’s edge – the four of us in noisy green cagoules. You lead us crablike from the streaming ridge – push through bracken, down towards the queue dripping on the jetty. When’s it due? a voice says. It’s familiar. It is mine. You won’t take the launch. You never do but set off back along the path again. I don’t turn  to watch, or think to wave. Rachel Curzon If you have any comments on this poem, Rachel Curzon would be pleased to hear them.