Autumn: I wake before the sun rises.
Warm myself on a cup of tea,
the feeling of my hands across the keyboard,
the central heating’s clicks and taps.
The sun’s light pierces clouds ruffled
on the horizon,
reminding me it’s still here
even at this turn of the year.
Rising into the sky, all blue and white
and blue and white
and falling leaves. Rain comes on
from nowhere, and I shut the window tight,
watch the leaves, pushed off
by the wind to fall with the raindrops,
to end up slicked, shining on the concrete.
By teatime, the sun is gone again.
Pink clouds wrestle with the oranges,
the yellows, the browns of the trees.
Red berries are picked out
in the evening light. Drops rest on the branches,
the rooks fly over like factory workers, heading for home.
