At the risk of turning this blog into the gardening blog equivalent of a Vogon poetry recitation, I thought I'd publish it here. In the garden at the moment it's autumnal by feel, if not by date. Normal, non-poetic service will resume shortly.
Flights of brown and red and orange tumble through the air;
Fallen flights crunch under hands and knees, and smell of age.
A thousand bright jewels reflect rainbows, strung together by invisible threads;In the middle is eight-legged patience, waiting for trembles.
Sweet explosions of red and purple orbs on the tongue,
Plucked by a loving hand from twigs guarded by grabbing plant claws.
Out of the window, the garden made blurred by clouds that touch the ground,
Muffling the robin’s sad song.
A new season, new sensations – a myriad new experiences
To touch, to taste, to see, to smell –My first autumn.