Gentle Time

 
 
We took a chilly walk
said goodbye to Summer
Jack set up the pheasants,
watched a rabbit flash its tail
glanced back ‘This way?’
‘Off you go’ and he was gone.
I'd left my stick at home
walked a little slow, the ground uneven,
badger-setts and mole-hills
examined, in their turn, by Jack,
who marks them for tomorrow.
Every day he names each tree.
Will the ash be here tomorrow?
black leaves hang in mourning
the world changing even here
where simple nature uncomplaining
watches seasons drifting in the breeze,
rain and storm silent snow and sleet
crisp brown leaves above the mull
of this year's fall,
oak leaf shapes still identified.
Daffodils waiting with the foxglove.
An ordinary afternoon, what more?
Gentle time disposed.