On the shortest day, I walked down to the garden where, stretched out across the grass, the out-turned fingers of peace received the night soon here. Vestigial glow bedecked the trees and roof-tops sank, the light soon gone. In the evening cool the streets were softly swept by homeward feet. But I had left my home to see the light; I traced its steps from pallid green treetops to underpass and marvelled at its retreat and dusk’s perfect lull. Pink clouds settled to evening grey, yet the story was not sad: the day was gift, was treasure. And how glorious! how perfectly bright the light set against the dark.
unnoticed; we thought it had arrived. The subtle lull of autumn tricked us with its need for cardigans and leaves aesthetically arranged on garden floors and streets. We thought the worst had come, forgot how true cold feels on toes. And now: the need for scarves in bags (in case) and duffle coats; the huddled walk of chilling feet and all the proud offense of those who do not know the cold. Father hands: please keep us warm. The winter does not sit with us. And strengthen mumbling grumbling minds to take the worst that comes.