Facing winter

A heavy greyness hang across the wolds,
Dissolving form and substance on the near
Horizon, and in its cold, uncertain light,
Even autumn’s hues are drab and drear.

The weary year is turning once again.
Forgotten is the August drought – save
By the oak and ash who in the searing heat
Discarded bough and branch, their scars engraved

Upon the trunks that glisten in the mist –
And fierce September storms are really just
A memory now, as not a breeze disturbs
The stealthy, slow advance of creeping dusk

That wreathes around the hedges of the heart.
It’s time to build a house against the night
Before the clocks fall back and we are plunged
Into along, deep gloom where faith, not sight

Will lead us through the winter of our soul
Remembered warmth of spring our hope, our goal.

Rutland, October 2025