Sunday Afternoon Walk.

the stone frog
on the window sill opposite
sports a frozen snow hoodie
lopsided it dribbles
a toothless hobo grimace


sycamore and chestnut
toss in the wind
clutch at the air
desperate
dead hands with parchment skin
cling to chimneys
my gloves, the colour
of autumn
float on a copper sea
of fallen beech leaves

miles of dappled lane later
stained glass sun fails to set blaze
the hills behind the turbines
on Knabb Ridge
greyscale sky scuds in from the moor
first flakes blow
too soon to settle
melt like love in a hurry

trees, a little more bare than before
crowd, suck spaces closer together
hover twixt dusk and twilight
afternoon and evening
life and death
The chill exhilarates
inspires
I slip on a dead squirrel
fur blurred as bonfire smoke
an urban fox scuttles
through swept leaves
eyes like a luminous watch.