Summer walks along the garden path,
imprinting its footprints of flowers.
Green dreams wander the wind-lisped
grass with its multitudinous tongues.
Bright birds toll the morning bells
and announce a midsummer madness.
Occupational therapy, this forced feeding:
a million beaks and bellies nurtured.
All too soon, the shortening of days,
fall’s stealthy approach, the long trip home.
The moon will then swing its winter lantern.
Orion, dog at heel, will hunt his star-frosted sky.
Crows, those eternal survivors, will take salt
and the occasional meal from icy roads.
It’s cloudy this morning and there is a chill in the air. The rowan berries are a bright yellow-turning-rapidly-to-orange. The crab apples are little red faces peering from laden tree and branch. The whole world has a sense of imminent change. Winter is never far away and the fear of frost-on-high-ground is always upon us.