I appear to have missed Tuesday — How alarming! In pennance, a poem:

Autumn Song

August is drawing its conclusions;
last long weekend looming,
promising fine.

The moon is full reflective,
the mountain ash bright berried,
reminds me of going back to school

no more.
Conkers hang green
not yet battle-ready. Drumsticks

suspended, silent in the common lime. Helicopters
spin from sycamores. Drifts
of thistle and rosebay willow herb

tell fuzzy tales of
cold days ahead and white beards;
wild raspberries suited up in red.

The wind breathes in and out the wood
quiet, deep in,
and out with percussion

a compressed musical meditation
on the season
and drying

each year
lessons us
on dying.

2013 © Oonah V Joslin