The Chalybeate

I visited my chalybeate spring at the weekend, for the first time in six years. There had been lots of rain in the hills over recent days, so the beck was too swollen to show the taint from the iron water. However, the spring was still flowing steadily in its hollow in the moorland, by the narrow ford and the footbridge. The alder trees were larger than I remember them, obscuring the path down through the heather and bracken.