Rockhollow's breath

Life is an abundant thing -
in all ways,

the spoils are bountiful depending upon how you pay your Gods.

Down in the 'Hollow it comes with walking,
by dusk,
as moths flutter out of shelters from light
and I do the same,

clothe -
take in the splendor of years on years of labouring.

She, sweet scabious, wafts on a soft,
cooling breeze,
morning glory opens - deep, plummy
and contrary.

She, Creeping Jenny, dresses the paths, with permission
as seeds scatter upon bare soil beds.

Swarms of crickets create a cacophony of sound -
echinops attracts late dwellers,
salvias engage night's shade

and I engage with you, as your living rests heavy against my living.

Globe artichokes create skeletons, promises of Summer's tiring.

A frog hops beyond the ponds safe bank,
and those crickets,
   oh,
         those crickets!

There's crow upon the aerial, her song echoes, wizened, so full of tales.

The die back is coming -
I see it

in the raspberry canes, the self heal, the chard,
I see it in the anemone, the blueberry, the hollyhocks,

I see it in the whole picture, setting in
hues of brown and grey

I am overwhelmingly grateful for this place,
here
     in such wholeness,
          in such life.