Late September
and Bea is still picking thumbnail tomatoes
scoffed like sweeties from a tub.
Every corner, cleft and crack
holds curled up brittle leaves
that rattle in the slightest breeze.
Around the shabby garden
plants already look defeated, and
surrender to the change of season.
Damp cobwebs drip and
trampoline between brittle stalks,
threadbare tensile silver flags.
In all this, it is the smells
that heralds change,
mushroom, moss, and manure
flung on nearby fields,
impatient birds on a wire
like black clothes pegs
about to leave for warmer climes.
*
© Graham Sherwood 09/2019
grahamrichardsherwood.co.uk 