Walking down the narrow footpath
That skirts along the tiny rill
I see the leaves all going red
But clinging on to branches still.
The redwings picking berries
Till their crops are all packed full
It’s all hubbub and chatter
Never a moment is dull.
And by the time we next walk round
The village green adjacent
The chill begins to penetrate
We are in Autumn nascent.
Trees growth begins to falter
The sap gets drawn back down
And leaves begin their annual fall
And land in heaps without a sound.
Slowly all the leaves fall down
The sycamore and ash and lime
The ground is strewn with many kinds
We’re in the Autumn prime.
But wait…there are a few leaves left
They rattle as strong winds blow
They’re oak and beech still hanging on
They’re often the last to go.
©Joe Wilson – Autumn’s arrival…2014