September

The sun tilts her face away from a final summer sunset, to set us Solstice bound.

Now to be wrapped in misty morning meadow wraiths, with trees gently weeping their golden tears.

Wood smoke scented evenings and home to foraged apple crumbles, dark with cinnamon spice. 

Of early dusk, with the robins tuning up for the battle of the song and the lonesome chink chink’s of a mournful blackbird.

It’s nature throwing a shawl woven from summers bounty around your shoulders, to guide and hold you tight throughout winters dark.