You can tell that the weather has changed when the dog takes up her position in front of the Aga.
Storms lashed and now the leaves have turned
burn-bronze and yellow on the wind.
and swarms of wasps stagger
woozy on windfalls.
The pond perfume, so sweetly rank
adds to the falling note,
speaks softly of decay
although today is kind,
sunshine between the showers.
There's that melancholy sense of loss,
leave taking once again.
Blooms mottle into mould. I look out socks and jumpers
and, like summer, I feel old.