These reservoirs were built to keep things in, water, fish, assorted water-weed. Canada geese skim the surface light, homing in to where they now belong.
Long ago they gave up on the Steppes and now see here as their only home, as though they've somehow lost their inner maps, now only need the atlas of these hills.
They were constructed in the days when mills were filled with workers coming to the towns of Lancashire to work the cotton trade.
The rainfall that cascaded from the land was captured here, where the farms were drowned in these great pits, to quench that mighty thirst.
Their names are taken from those ghostly farms, Ogden, Kitcliffe, Piethorne, Norman Hill, Hanging Lees and Rooden; six in all.
These days we often walk up through the hills, the Pennines here loom above our house. The days of rain are plentiful for sure and water's still collecting in the ponds.
We fish and tell the children to beware of cold deep currents pulsing through each sluice connecting name with name, each stepping down from these heights to the towns below; Oldham, Rochdale, New Hey and Milnrow.
These reservoirs hold something more as well; tales of how we colonise the land to make it home. As geese have, so do we.