Day 21: Ripe for the Falling

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

One comment

  1. I significantly enjoy your posts. Thanks

    Like

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