Post by flyingwelshman on Sept 15, 2008 13:00:38 GMT 1
Season of wild fruit and fungi unfolding
Nurtured by a pale sun; skies of darting swallows
Pass by the bronze gong; suspended
Yet sinking slowly in south west sky.
Shortening days of receding light
Crisp morning air flavoured with the acrid sting
Of bonfire smoke; stirring my senses
Awakening my being; inspired by crimson hued sunsets
Awaiting the rising morning mists with silent splendour.
All around, nature is drowsy; eluding the sharp bite
Of morning air and creeping frosts that wait
To chill the trunks of dreaming trees
Whose leaves cascade like copper tears
Borne away by fresh October winds.
Grey beeches stand as sentinels over dormant earth.
Roasting chestnuts split over animated fires
Dogs bark on faraway crofts
Echoing through the ghosts of harvested orchards
The wheel turns, the year grows old;
John Barleycorn's bones bake in farmhouse kilns
Wood pigeons call from lonely copses
Neath a canopy of laden storm cloud.
Peter Nash