A Time for all Seasons

(a description of recent walks, late afternoon to dusk, October towards November 2003).

October early evening sun,
low in a cradle of crimson cloud,
illuminates the yellow
in those greens that slowly fade
and enamels savoury
all the russets and browns.
Earth, freshly turned,
smacks delicious with its tang
of Aga bread and cats' paws.
Fields are rastafarian
(corduroy), or lightly blushing green
in the anti-cycle Spring
of the second annual crop.
Birds overhead rehearse formations,
check their ancient charts,
retell exotic travelling tales.
Some waddle, out of depth on land,
or take off like propeller planes.
Red kites cruise;
old crows' engines falter on approach
and ducks come down on their petrol tanks.
As the Earth turns,
Autumn reaches for a coat,
and Summer, out late,
hurries home to hibernate.
Rain forecasts itself
in peninsulas of cloud.
Night and Winter strain against their rollers
and the air practices its bite.
Candles are lit
in the great cathedral
- angels tune their instruments
- the west doors close.
The world slips back
before words and language.
The service of remembrance begins.

Roy Davids

Published in 'Acumen', January 2004