October 30, 2017 § 12 Comments
That place where a month ago the swallows suddenly left and my brother died. That place where my green valley became a swirling mist and the slow river grew a blanket over itself.
The heron hides.
That place where the bees burrow into the dry moss and I shake out the winter duvet.
I am collecting apples. Wrapping each one in newspaper and storing them in wooden boxes.
I sweep leaves into hills for the hedgehogs.
In the woods the birds still sing. They start early, flittering. After midday the twilight comes quickly and I think only autumn thoughts as I kick through the leaves and turn my face towards that grey cloud that I know will pass.
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