The Fall

 

“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.”

Not here. Not now.

The wind whips leaves from the trees

In showers of red, orange, yellow.

They carpet the ground with softness, damp and yielding underfoot.

Horse chestnut trees scatter their spiky husks,

And here is a conker:

Round shiny treasure like polished mahogany

Sitting abandoned on the soggy leaves

But not for long.

Children will take it to its new home.

Now the rain comes

Sideways in the buffeting wind.

Head, neck, trousers cold and colder

As we run for home.

Later we look out through rain-flooded windows

Hot tea in hand

At the October storm that is stripping the trees

Naked.

What else will fall?

Autumn is not a gentle season

In England

Now.