It’s October again.
Bright days sandwiched between
crisp mornings and thickening nights.
As if to remind us that
wood must be stacked
and heavy curtains hung,
the geese steer noisily overhead,
straining south, v-scoring the sky,
drawing a line under summer.
Squirrels gather stores in the
cat-combed gardens while
finches feed greedily, safely,
from branch-hung feeders.
Leaves – dry, shrivelled, brown –
blow in through the back door.
It’s the geese, though,
grey and purposeful, that
herald in the autumn cold
and turn my thoughts to
flying south.