Hints of Autumn

Hints of autumn

 

There is a hint of autumn in the air,

not simply the shortening days or the cool mornings,

but the quality of light no longer speaks of summer.

Blackberries and haws are still unripe, but the promise

is there, with a suggestion of the gathering of food

and preservation for the privations to come.

 

A cobweb slung casually between hogweed stems

has caught thistledown and fluffy seeds from willowherb:

potential generations flying in the breeze.

 

In the small paddock, two rams snooze, wakening

with mild interest at the approach of ewes in the adjoining field.

The black-faced one sniffs and paws the fence.

One of the ewes responds, briefly, before returning to graze,

the rhythmic sound of munching loud in the quiet afternoon:

their time of frenzied mating is still to come.

 

Bryony twines through the blackthorn, the leaves yellowing,

here and there pale orange berries suggest the future scarlet

which will set the hedge alight. The dog-rose sprawling

between ragwort (half in flower, half in downy seed)

has been visited by a gall-wasp, the host plant producing vermilion

tufts in defense: Robin’s Pincushions we used to call them.

 

The lake is placid, unruffled by wind, no longer visited

by swallows and swifts, the bordering flowers of knapweed and scabious

have faded, the winter waterfowl have not yet arrived.

A time of transition, the days before the equinox:

yes, there are hints of autumn are in the air.

 

 

Published in Startips 98

 

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