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Lean Time

As the days shorten and skies darken Greenwich meantime feels like a lean time. With a heavier coat I go out scarfed, my hat pulled down, to find those last leaves compact in corners and crevices. With whitening fingers gloved I crouch and pluck them for leaf mould; while wood lice watched by a robin, head cocked, alert, are plucked as he darts for a morsel, as blackbirds too pluck the last berries. As a north-easterly blast attacks, it is time to retreat from the chill wind into a defensive shelter, to sharpen secateurs for pruning apples, blackcurrants and gooseberries. Winter battles as the rain rattles on the windows, probing and testing. I bring in some logs and lay the fire – match to kindling it begins to roar. Now dusk it's time the curtains to draw. Hot drink clasped, I behold a new moon crescent up into a clearing sky. There beneath the starlit canopy snowdrops begin to poke through the grass as if to reflect the countless stars. In the morn I rake moss from the lawn to keep warm – it pays to keep moving – with aconites as if acolytes soon to join a vernal procession into the promise of renewed life.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 5/3/2018 5:33:00 PM
Wonderful creativity, Listle!! A very enjoyable reading..
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Lisle Ryder
Date: 5/4/2018 3:11:00 AM
So glad you entered into the scene. Thanks, Lisle.