The farmer’s almanac may predict
A rough Winter with biting winds,
But now do not think of white crisp snow,
Instead the glorious reds and ambers Autumn brings.
Let the baking begin!
Filling kitchens with sumptous smells that linger
Whilst whispering of happy childhoods
And rose-tinted dreams.
Let there be cinamon-spiced apples cooked in pastry nests,
Or fresh bread rising like a beating heart,
Turning golden-brown off the flickering flames
Within the ebony hearth.
Hear the crackling of first fires lit
And watch the small plumes of smoke
Rise from chimney breasts.
Yearn for dying leaves to line the cobbled streets,
So I and other young-hearted souls might
Make them airbound with our kicks.
Good friends must gather round my card-table,
Sipping hot toddies and clutching
Thick-rimmed mugs close to our chests.
The air will be filled with laughter
And ephereal energy that dances amongst
The moonlight of early darkness,
As sparklers whirl around the air
Tracing their glittery trails upon the black,
Evoking fond memories of idle youth.
Let sheep nestle between scatterings of mist
Cast flavescent by rising soft Autumnal sun
Whilst children with sticky hands might
Scoop Jack’s orange brains upon the porch
To light the space behind his eyes with glee.
Our bellies must be filled with comfort food that
Restores our lost souls to good,
Whilst mouths are propped open with fine cigarettes
And elbows search to find their usual grooves
Upon the table’s wood.
We will listen to loving strumming of guitar or uke
And tap a rhythm with toes readily turning blue.
We will sing some soft caressing song
That makes us all remember
Times of old and friends forgot.
We will be grateful for all these things and more.
Let’s not yet think on Christmas
For Autumn to ignore.
It is by far the happiest time
Of that I am sure.
Published Regionals: The Midlands and East of England by Forward Press