I’m a few days early for the new month but October
is such an important month somehow that to give
it a bit more space seems only right and proper.
The wood close to where we live has sprouted a blue and
white sign saying it is for sale. It’s only a
leaf and a branch of what it was when we were children
and played there all day long. October saw an end to
this freedom because of the earlier darkness and the
long unfriendly walk home when we were tired and cold
and hungry. Of course, the darkness wasn’t only on the
outside, Deadly Nightshade grew in this wood.
OCTOBER
October now,
Bringing the first sighting of Winter
Leaning on the fence
Like any old farmer
Looking over his fields.
The fox,
Running for cover,
Leaves his tracks
Across the set-aside meadow
Full of weeds,
Thistles and the odd potato
From last year’s crop.
Winter,
Thinking it over
Like any old farmer,
Perches on the farm gate
Planning a harvest
Of icy nights and bitter mornings,
Of frost bitten fingers and frozen water,
Of glittering trees and silver beauty
And white, white air.
© Gwen Grant.
This poem feels rather fresh with how you describe it. Beautiful. 😊
Oh yes Gwen! I love the references to ‘icy’ and ‘bitter’ mornings. I can see that farmer leaning on the gate!
So wonderful! So befitting for the season.
Thanks Gwen!
With kindest regards,
Sharon 🥰
Thanks, Liz. So glad you liked it.
Gwen.
Glad you liked it, Sharon. Yesterday was glorious, so warm and sunny that October seemed miles away – not so, today. it’s gloomyand cold. All est,
Gwen.
Such wonderful images of October in your verse!
Happy Ocotber, Grammy.
Gwen.
I hope your childhood wood doesn’t succumb to what we were once foolish enough to call “progress,” Gwen.
Oh, me, too, Camilla. Me, too. I watch those dratted ‘For Sale’ signs every day dreading a SOLD on them.
Gwen.