Autumn Sunday
I walked again, down the hillto the little harbour,
the hill is steep and inclines,
twising and turning,
if you are lucky
you see the little red squirrels
darting in the woods.
They painted the stone white
the one that juts out into the road.
Acorns are falling,
they make walking
a little precarious and the dogs
sniff the air and ruffle
through the fallen leaves,
summer has gone,
the sun has sunk
and lost its strength.
At the harbour boats
were being pulled up,
now will be the time
of repairs as Autumn gails
pound the granite
sending spew and seaweed
high up onto the sand.
Rails are being painted,
some replaced
and the wooden huts
that line the pier
need a lick of paint and care.
The café usually so busy these past months
rang with soundlessness
just one family inside,
fractious children and grandparents
choosing to spend a Sunday together
when all the children want to do
is use their Ipads and game.
Oh those bucket and spade
summer days have lost their grip.
Walking up the hill
the dogs jump onto verges,
while we stop
and watch the sea,
next week the tides
will be long and hard
and if a wind comes to call
the waves will spurn
the fury of a thousand armada's.
Autumn on a Sunday
has slowly come to stay.
Poetry by Elle
Read 740 times
Written on 2015-10-04 at 19:17
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