Another month clocks up and the year seems be rushing along ever faster. Cooler days and misty mornings with trees only just beginning to turn from green to gold. Fruits still cling to trees and hedgerows. Prompted me into poetry.
Even those hanging on for dear life
to the lichen locked branches
now seem tired and ready to drop
into the dense, dewed grass of Autumn.
Rotted red, russet and green
cluster in charnelled heaps,
ripe for the cycle of another year.