An autumn spell…

It’s such a colourful time of the year, above and below.

Skies on crisp, clear, days washed with the shimmer of the sun caught up in cloud and contrail, reflected on an early morning mist, swept into the silk scarf distance of the coming day.

I can almost smell the delicate colour in the air; cinnamon and peaches, sugared candy floss, toffee apple, walnuts; lick your lips, taste the heady almond fumes. This time of year for fair and show, a playtime all around, about, and all a tumble too.

Is it not good? Could it be any better? Careful, don’t breathe in too much - too much will make you giddy.

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Giddy

And all around the dropping of the leaves all well-made-up for season’s ball with rouge, and paint, and fire; sweetened by a summer's sugar, bid dance in winds to twirl and spin, as whirligig, each in its own unfurl.

Come join the dance and spin, a single chance, invited in, kick up those leaves as a child long past time, laugh into skies and wonder at the sight. Drink deep the air and grin; who knows when another like this will ever come again.

Above our heads, beneath our feet, a final show of flush and rage, as autumn cocks a snook in jester hue, then falls and cloaks the ground exhausted, crisped and used, awaiting rain and winter grey, as Mr. Punch is finished with his play.