In Autumn
God is at his best . .
Flinging nature
to the four winds
His finely crafted
works of art . .
Tossed from their lofty perches
To come helter skelter . .
To rest in a floor strewn
Abstract work of art
That children descend upon
In their search for conkers
At its approach
Almost every colour
Is peppered across
The forest canopy
Such reds and golds . .
Far beyond the challenge
Of man’s academy of art
A kaleidoscope of colour
The like of which
is hard to comprehend
and if you close you eyes
the rainbow is extended
as your senses go reeling
from the multifaceted
bouquet
As the days peel away
toward inevitable winter
winds sharpen
cutting cheeks
sending chills and shudders
down the spine . .
Whist children
play and shout
amongst natures debris . .
Older folk
pull their collars
to cover their ears
As they stand guardian
Over bonfires
Listening to the twigs crackle
Whilst trying to avoid
the swirling smoke
from smoldering leaf piles
which invade the nostrils
Bringing tears to the eyes
whilst teasing the tastebuds
with an exciting pungent
cooking odors
Yes . .
what can one say . .
Or not say . .
About Autumn
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