Dappled light, Autumn angled plays over my path,

golden leaves litter the ground, crisp, crunching 

as I walk in the fading light, awed by nature’s 

bounteous praise of decaying foliage that has

striven to provide the plethora of berries that

call waxwings, thrushes, warblers and jays.

Squirrels come for the nuts that litter the 

colour hued leaves as they make a mosaic

to gladden my heart and ache for the skills

of an artist, who with brush and paint will

capture the moments that thrill with their 

skills, and as the guiding light fades, frosty 

breath flows and the harvest moon rises

to spread its silvery glow, greying the

paint box of fire capped bushes, which 

waved like flames in the bold, cold breeze.

Published by


margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.