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

the garden pruned back

birds inspect diminished trees

winter without song

ivy encroaching

creeping up trees over walls

reclaiming the town

after the nesting

massacre of branches, chain-saws

before the berries

a lynx stalks my dreams

orange coat, luminous eyes

staring, biding time

a moment of pause

pen poised above a notebook

while thoughts coalesce

listening to soil

weeds growing like memories

rain slowly seeping

masts stand like corn stalks

on a lilac evening

not even a breath