Autumn is a time of drawing-in, of consolidation and careful settling; it’s not a time for risks, for excitement and change.
Or so they say. For me autumn has the visceral joy of change to it, just as much as spring; the liveliness of changing winds, the snap of frost, the crunch of apples. It heralds a season of richness and thankfulness, of rejoicing in the fruits we work to pluck and store now.
Few things are given to us without labour… but that work is so very deeply its own reward.
for losing my day in laughing at stupid videos
and cuddling rats.
for curling up at my shoulder
tucking yourself like a littermate
I don’t care if I can have you or not.
If you could see the days I’ve lost before
in the grey airless treadmill of waiting to live
If you could see the way I see –
well, there it is.
Don’t apologise. Not to me.
to your own still self
if what you leave for
than what you leave behind.