Look and see three trees
Wind blows silent leaves
Fall is almost there
Elegant song thrush
Speckled breast, long slender legs
Snail’s worst enemy
With every sense alive at once,
Her hands plunged in the earth.
Its ripe and crumbly brownness,
Ploughing grooves across its girth.
Since she was young, a thousand summers,
Grew a crop for tea.
A child’s evening spent with aprons,
Bent on bended knee.
Nostrils filled with pungent heads,
Mushroom’s heady scents,
Darkened, ferny corridors,
Autumn fairy tents.
Tea leaves stained her china,
Fat moths full of dreams.
Tattered lace of lullabies,
Loved, now never seen.
And as the loam is squeezing
Through her mottled, gnarly hands,
Memories and textures
Turn keys in time-lost lands.
Her faithful Ted so threadbare,
His matted fur gone flat.
Squashed, one eyed and stitches loose,
Beneath her piebald cat.
She knows there have been rainbows,
But sees through rheumy eyes,
These sepia toned reminders,
Of how this earth is wise.