And It’s Glorious
The storm has eased, eventually.
Though cold, trees still, dripping yet,
Leaves left, strewn upon the street:
Sheets of gold and ochre. Streams of
Sticks and twigs clog the gutters,
Grown to spreading pools, reflecting
Gorgeous tempest survivors overhead.
And it’s glorious: a rare, raw, glimpse
Of our world without the concrete.
At least until the sweepers resume,
Scouring nature with their plastic brooms.
Posted on December 7, 2022, in Ecology, nature, poetry, rewilding, Writing and tagged autumn, fall, fall colours, leaves, nature, parks, poem, poetry, storm, street, tempest, trees, wildlife, writing. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.
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