Autumn Village

Autumn Village


    Carpets of golden leaf, soft under foot and gentle bonfire smoke that wonders through tree lined lanes where village folk keep their hearts.
    That seasonal smell of coal fire dances over rooftops on which winters weather will beat in coming months while last apples hang where others have dropped and common nettles start to bend in hedgerows full of seeded bramble fruits, red in leaf.
   Stubble fields do lay untouched like forests of tiny yellow stakes where odd pigeon still glean for corn and pheasant cocks walk so proud.
   Strings of swallow sit in line with long journey to start while magical clouds of starling perform their roosting show over heath and water meadow, a million wings yet not a sound.
   Church yard silent in dark evening cold as shop doors lock and warm fires call, another day closer to winters coat of ice and snow, another summer fades.