Walking down the narrow footpath

That skirts along the tiny rill

I see the leaves all going red

But clinging on to branches still.

The redwings picking berries

Till their crops are all packed full

It’s all hubbub and chatter

Never a moment is dull.



And by the time we next walk round

The village green adjacent

The chill begins to penetrate

We are in Autumn nascent.

Trees growth begins to falter

The sap gets drawn back down

And leaves begin their annual fall

And land in heaps without a sound.



Slowly all the leaves fall down

The sycamore and ash and lime

The ground is strewn with many kinds

We’re in the Autumn prime.

But wait…there are a few leaves left

They rattle as strong winds blow

They’re oak and beech still hanging on

They’re often the last to go.



©Joe Wilson – Autumn’s arrival…2014