Autumn Blush

Copyright © Isabella Dalzell 2018. All RIghts Reserved.

Autumn yawns in like the warm

breath of a Serengeti lion

wind stirs the bronzed leaves

as they dry, falling to the ground

in clumps of red, gold and green.

 

Scorched summer grass returns plush.

Paired birds dance in the sky

swirling, soaring southerly, purple

peonies wither back into the ground

and mint waves on shrivelled stalks.

 

Squirrels grab the strewn acorns

stuffing pouched cheeks with hazelnuts

sprightly sparrows return to the gardens;

flurrying flight to pluck the swelling berries

damp and misty on the morning grass.

 

Autumn blushes the apple skin

golden-red, wasps suck the juice,

nibbling caves into the white-green

flesh. Dry-stemmed, it falls,

shrinks, crumpled from within

buried under a scatter of copper-crisped leaves

where blackbirds peck.

 

A warm wave of light blows

through the branches of the tree.

Yellow pear plummets onto sanded

soil, splits: spilling juice

which jams on damson peel.

Butterfly sips sap suspended

on wavering wings

extracting elixir through arced proboscis.

 

Field mouse darts, big eared

searching for spilt seed.

Vine shines, lime green as the

Sun streaks through filmy leaves.

White-chested magpie flicks its tail

and picks at the litter left in gutters as

sunlight falls, peachy-red across church walls.

 

Foxgloves stand pennant, dry

as rattles spraying seed, sowing

Spring into the soft, crumbling soil

nature heads home for winter.