Orange sherbet bright
jelly perfect moulds and scalloped flutter funghi
yellow sunset shines
like a beacon
on a fallen earth limb brown and coal dust
as a mire embed
through a lime green bed moss
Reds and ochres fall surround
bursts of tiny toadstools
and deep breaths as i inhale and take
My recipe for an Autumn begins.
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow.
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
I hope you all enjoy this Emily Bronte poem as much as me. I came across it by chance and it is as contemporary now as it was then but I have a feeling that it was a bit ahead of it’s time!
Nothing has changed for a thousand years here as you cannot hear a tree fall taken by the life that lives on and used again and again. Fungi sprout on flakey timber, lichen never found anywhere else on earth celebrate their status and sprout unusual orange tufts on crimped green leaves.
A stream runs the length of the ancient cut. Small deep glass pools form and bubbles converge as the falling water joins it’s sister below.
Above the cold a buzzard sits on an oak, wise as a General, hawk-eyed, hungry. Seams here in the rock run red with iron, concrete earth with plant and grow through each other sustaining,
while we fade away.