by epidural

chatting to surgeons at work

at ninety years old

mother-in-law falls

anxious wait, a broken hip

her great adventure

donning many hues

the morning light can’t decide

how to dress the day

here a tree stands still

across the valley a breeze

shimmering of leaves

my bedroom window

facing east catches the blush

of the rising sun

a monochrome dawn

white strip of sky, dark trees

perfect silhouette

by the allotment

boxes of vegetables

an honesty tin

last days of summer

already a morning chill

a flock flying south

in soft morning light

delicate gossamer webs

on autumn hedgerows

the sound of hoof-beats

clopping on a cobbled lane

the sweet smell of hay