The second of the series, the nights draw in and there’s a nip in the evening air
Bright blooms turn slowly more dark, full and rich,
into every corner, across expanse, in hollow, crag and ditch,
Summer’s now slid away to its older, more sumptuous bother,
in the rich family of earth’s seasons, where nature is its mother.
Colours change to deep gold, russet brown and ripe red,
and you feel an ethereal need to spend a little longer in a warm bed,
misty mornings murk is somehow now far less inviting,
everything seems to feel the need, to indulge in contest and fighting.
Stags bellow deep and stallions throw high sharp edged whinny,
as they round you their herds, every last jack and jenny
migratory birds have a hankering, for far more of their food stuffs,
filling their breast out with it all, from geese, right down to the small chuffs.
In house, washing is now more often dried in front of the fire
because with cool days, sun damp, the lawn now is reverting to mire,
the door mat takes a beating from ever muddy and wet feet,
but you insist that they get wiped, shoes left in the hall, before you take your seat.
Flowers in the main, will soon be slipping right over,
but on the bright side, cool days slow down growth of pretty, but invading clover,
but its that time to accept it and attend to the veg beds,
there is still much to take, or the harvest to find shelter and pot luck in the sheds.
For those that avoid, such forms of outside cultivation,
it may be time for just one more, perhaps more active type of vacation,
perhaps to one of the many spectacular, multi coloured foreign vistas,
or perhaps a leisurely short break, maybe to the least seen of your sisters.
One more delight is left, as it will soon be bonfire night,
collecting wood, building high, anticipating its ever inveigling sight,
hot dogs, onions, soup, thick and steaming you keep it in hand,
to warm you through as you amaze, at the fireworks announcing Autumns last stand.
While you clear away the last, of the damp ash and stick,
you finish off the rest of the garden, find a lost football, take just one more kick,
boots now lined up like soldiers, on parade at the back door,
you swap you light mack for thick coat, and hang it away, not wanted any more.
Hats and scarves soon become more of an essential,6
and unfortunately the rain is often rather menacingly, torrential,
but its been another time, onto which you just can’t hold,
so the season slips by for another year, at least this one ended bathed in gold.