Usually I love the autumn, a reprieve from the brazen heat of the summer. This year it came rapidly and the leaves turned within days. A succession of windy days shook left the tree trunks bare, outlined against the blue skies.
The world is tinged with a touch of sadness and unreasonable foreboding plays with my normally cheery predisposition. I am reworking my second manuscript. Words flow onto the page and lap off it.
It can be quite intense at times waiting for the inspiration to pave its way through the madness.Taking a break I am inclined to share this poem.
I look through the window past the frosted glass
and the fly wire.
The sun shines through the leaves
old and green hardened by a hot summer, rapidly passing.
Some of the leaves have given into nature’s flow
now yellow, hanging on weakly in the breeze.
Little immature crab apples pray for a little more warmth
they are not yet ripe.
The sadness of autumn pervades everything
colours bold and golden enliven the flagging spirit.
Soon winter will be upon us
demanding we sit by the fire with a good book.