If only Winter was the Old Winter

            Embrace the Rain

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The ginkos are gone the colour of 

Midsummer glare, fans finally falling.

Beeches now brilliant auburn, poplars

Drifting orange yellow instead of white

Cotton. Leaves lifted as easily in whipped-

Up gusts with rain against windows.

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The cold requires we bundle up

In gloves and hoods, but we embrace 

Winter weather, smile with chapped lips,

Rubbing ruddy cheeks, like a proof 

We’re not in so much trouble, perhaps

The world is not turning terribly 

Scorching dry, desiccating all round us.

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We cling to this chill as an indication of 

Lessened danger: deceiving ourselves,

Like lung cancer patients, counting dear

Cough-free hours as signs we’re in the clear.

A simple idea as autumn finally feels like it’s here, with plenty of rain these last few weeks.

But of course, it’s not quite winter, at least not winter as it was. In the local park, while the willows are shedding their leaves, these trees are coming in to bloom, as if it were February already…

The park of Yamaguchi in Pamplona (over manicured, as usual) with a row of trees all fooled into thinking it’s spring though it’s not yet Christmas.

A Few Seconds of Eternity

            A few Seconds of Eternity

A hubbub surrounds several idling cars:

Kids running between house and driveway

As the gang gets ready to leave on Sunday,

Carrying bags and banging shutters closed.

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Asking, “Have we left anything behind?”

“Well, here it stays till next weekend,” replied,

For we’ve baths and dinners to have this evening

If we ever get on the road home.

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Eventually, the door locked and all packed in,

Bar me, standing in the garden as the cars

Reverse out, waiting to close the gate, taking in

The scene surrounding us as every evening:

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Silence settling o’er the vale as the breeze

Slows to swing round from afternoon heat

On the southern plains beyond the hills,

Set in scarlet, under clouds tinged pink.

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The sparrows have ceased squabbling

In the hedges for roosting spots, chirping

Softly as crickets; the sky turquoise east,

Glowing golden west; the oaks go on growing

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Under Saturn and early stars starting to shine,

As they have for eons, breathing in, quietly,

As the gate squeaks shut; all is mine,

For a few seconds, immersed in an eternity.

Often ‘Tis the little moments that make this life wonderful.