November 2014

Rude awakening, non-stop och-och-och of a pheasant…

Pheasant’s stammered call
chops up the morning quiet.
Pick up the pieces.



Gradually, in the rain, all that incredible gold and bronze and copper and other, indefinable colours are darkening…

Autumn’s hoard of gold,
amassed in those better days,
slowly tarnishes.



It’s hard to let go of summer and that amazing Autumn…

Like the shedding trees,
we cling to bright, warm colours.
Winter denial.



In reverse alchemy, the weather turns gold leaves to brown…

Sky-emptying rain
bronzes the gilded carpet.
Browned-off leaves let go.


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