I looked up, and it was autumn
where golden hues were cosseted
by warm September light
and the willows stopped being so prolific,
turning their leaves from the coming North.
Soon it will be winter
with its shades of white on roof and hearth
courted only for the relief
of a well padded spring.
I looked away for only a moment
still relishing the spring
the mind's fingers playing over photographs
where sullen rain turned to bubbling springs
and the songbirds called in the evening.
© Rachel Green 2016