Awaiting Autumn

Gentle rain sprinkles spoilt sun-scorched turf;
Oppressive humidity breaks, crumbles;
Cooler breezes strengthen,
Sighing beneath the shutter
Cranked closed after countless ray-struck days.

Soft air feels fresher, crisper; above, pink clouds,
Nudge aside their grim, grey cousins' dark shrouds,
Summer still reminding us,
Cascading cerise cumulus,
That autumn won't set in without a fight.



Laden boughs, fruitful, sag and bob in rhythm:
Regimented rows sway and bounce in sheets of shower;
Pearlescent droplets glitter
And orange-pink beads glow
On plums and apples and pears; mouth-watering.

The first twilight stars peep through, and yet
The horizon-bound sky still glows cornflower bright.
Twinkling red, white and blue,
Through the ozone they shimmer;
A million magical light-sped years to dazzle us.

A lunar nail-clipping merges with this celestial ballet,
Its dark side barely visible as dusk descends;
A weary sun bids adieu,
Beyond blackening hill-scapes,
To bring light and life and warmth to someone else's morn.

Countless hues of blue imbue the sky
Right to left: turquoise, air-force, royal, indigo, navy.
Into near pitch-dark as
The panoramic canvas,
Truly global, is iridescent with innumerable tiny crystals.



Autumn espies one fleeting chance, one more last shot:
Mercurial clouds flit across the ever brightering moon,
They chase each other in
Lunar hide and seek.
Still the chill wind quickens; goosebumps ripple.

Warped, shrinking floorboards creak and cry out,
Of colder nights under my shuffling weight;
The cracked cider jug, illuminated,
Temporarily filled with scrumpy bought;
Will soon be brim-full with my pulverised fruits.

But what's the rush? Ma Nature will out.
Just savour, for now, summer's final fling,
Before ripe apples fall,
And grass, just once more,
Glows green again, before winter claims it all.