Walking down the road,
on my way to work.
Frosty breath, whisping around me.
The air tightens my nose and ears,
blood rushing to fight the cold.
Birds scythe through the sky,
how I wish to be them,
join in their dance.
Rustling through fallen leaves.
Naked trees reaching to the blue void,
like broomsticks planted in the ground,
trying to sweep the clouds.
The bitter sweet tang of smoke,
hangs in the air.
Garden fires burning the leaves,
recycling the summer growth,
for next year.
I like this time of year.
It signals change,
the pause before re-growth.
A momentary catch of breath,
before colour explodes again.
Warm evenings infront the fire,
whiskey and hot food,
good company.
There's one piece missing this year,
from the picture,
c'est la vie.

(c) 1998 29 October 1998 21:55, Fnagaton