Not a time for beginning

The crisp air splashes like a cold face wash in the morning

While a bronze pheasant picks through dewy mounds of meadow

and Harry the brazen cat mews incessantly at me.

Rusted brown grasses spray fountains of tired gold

among isolated lemon yellow, purple and pink.

Bird song sails, bobbing above a quarry rumble

A goldfinch plucks fluff from a faltering thistle

and others feast among hawthorn berries and a bank of blackberries

3 nuthatches, tits, a tiny gold crest

and a dull olive green bird with a butterfly flash of yellow banded wings

maybe a siskin.

The garden is empty

While the wild bustles beyond the wall

Preparing for the oncoming cold