Sun wanly shines, warmth pretending,
cooler air signals summers ending,
this dying season I’m slowly befriending.
Leaves turn tan and downward fall,
sparrows follow warm wind call,
wasps get spiteful: stings for all.
A stand of trees embraces a church
Crow caw calls, beech lofty perch,
I cycled from suburbs on berry search.
This Sunday I explore country lanes,
my forefingers now show sticky stains,
box by box filled with foraged gains.
Silent cyclists speed by, Lycra equipped,
backs bent low, drop handlebars gripped,
I climb banks for berries, trying not to slip.
Crab apples, conkers roadside mangled,
bramble barbed, my jumper gets tangled,
thread-made haloes from thorny wrangles.
It’s the last of summer: goodbye, goodbye,
much greyer now that once-blue sky:
don scarves and gloves, find kites to fly.