As some of my friends have already noted, today is National Poetry Day. This year's theme is Dreams - but I already had planned to put this more seasonal offering on my blog, so I'm afraid I'll have to be off-topic.
The end of summer
Indian summer weather has gone at last – no more warm blue afternoon skies and still, dewy mornings.
Suddenly the sky is full of flying grey tatters of cloud; and rooks are practising their synchronised wheeling, like stray tea-leaves swirling in a rinsed teapot.
A cool damp wind soughs through the sere beeches. A few brown-edged leaves rustle and whirl from their branches to join the rooks with every gust.
Rain spatters in the air, releasing the scent of wet earth from the newly-harrowed fields, and I can hear the surf roaring distantly on the rocks.
It's the end of summer, and I am strangely elated at the year's turning.
Written late September 1996
04/10/07 @ 11:02