Autumn Equinox

Photo by Simon Matzinger on Pexels.com
 Amber mist sweeps the woods
 and treetops burst like fireworks
 red, orange, yellow and green -
 against the silhouetted Trossachs,  
 
 Leaves plucked from branches -
 A leg and a wing, to see the king,
 Fall under Wellington boots,
 Into a cold casserole of dead summer.  
 
 The hill is a graveyard.
 Thistle corpses are crispy baskets.
 Bramble bushes bow low, and autumn 
 Shoots jets of freezing air,  
 
 I feel them creep into my hair as I descend
 Into the valley. 
 
 A swirling cloud hovers over the grass 
 And a snapping twig halts
 A tap-dancing gull, it hops sideways
 Over a flattened mole hill. 
 
 I pause in the shadow of a goal post, 
 While the ghost of summer wraps around my neck
 Like a feather boa. 

©EilidhGClark