Wild Moment: Val Dunmore
Bats, butterflies, frosts and leaves - a poem inspired by autumnal mysteries.
Autumn
One can’t compete with Keats they say, and yet….
autumn is here in all its hazy gold,
nudging the trees to lose their now-spent leaves,
spiralling, swirling down into rich drifts.
Blazing, the harvest of sweet wasp-chewed fruit
relentlessly falls, strewn uncaringly.
Brave butterflies that cheated midnight frosts
drown in the nectar of late flowering gifts.
Migrants are leaving space for home-grown birds
their multitudes of twitters fading fast.
The bloodshot moon in bold intensity
silhouettes bats and swarms of rising gnats.
Columns of smoke, though now occasional,
signal stillness in hushed yet vibrant air.
This pause between the summer and the storms
gives one last boost to cope with winter’s cold.
One can’t compete with Keats they say, and yet …
autumn’s pervading mysteries beget.