Shall I tell you honestly
what autumn does to me?
The season that enchants,
that calls my name the loudest,
this time of slow goodbyes
and harvests a-plenty,
of sparkling mists
and darker, richer palettes—
it makes me a collector of things:
mostly dead things, I should say
like seed heads
that rattle in the winds,
the eyeless rested skulls
of creatures gone,
and skeleton leaves, brittle veined
in endless patterns that fascinate.
I can't help but rescue old books—
those neglected and broken-spined,
take them home and bind them anew
so that I may lose myself
within the pages of their stories.
Come closer now—
closer, so that I can whisper,
"I am a forest dweller,
hoarder of conkers,
seeker of secrets
and believer of fairy realms."
Go now, child of Earth
and discover autumn for yourself!
Autumn is magical. Every year I look forward to the rich colours, morning mists and cosy evenings of this enchanting time of year.
What does autumn do to you?
There are more poems about the changing seasons, transformation and mysteries in my poetry book Other Realms
Available to buy from amazon