Time To Go

The leaves are turning;
time to go and find some sun,
holiday abroad!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I seem to have got in a bit of a muddle with my posts this week, I’m having trouble keeping track of what day it is. This is mainly because we are off tomorrow (Saturday) for an extended trip through France to Spain and back. I shall therefore be taking a break from blogging until late November. I hope to catch up with you all then. Sadly I shall miss the progress of Autumn, which is a season I love. No doubt all the trees will be nearly bare by the time I return and life will be a mad rush to get ready for Christmas.

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Sycamore Tree – Septolet

Always first —
Sycamore tree
splashed russet
and golden.

South facing
sunburned leaves
welcome change.

Winding Down – Septolet

Summer fades.
Leaves slowly
turn golden.

The year
winds down,
steadily increasing
its pace.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A Septolet consists of 7 lines in 14 words, arranged in two parts with a break between, both parts dealing with the same thought.

This is my first attempt at a Septolet. My thanks to Elaine Patricia Morris (Watermelonseeds) for introducing me to this delightful form.

Scuttle and Swirl

Residue of Autumn’s fallen leaves
scuttle like rats along the road
at the behest of the gusting wind,
or swirl up in the air
like flocks of small birds
taking flight.

Drips

In the silence,
the sound of the drips
of raindrops and leaves
from the trees.

Hiatus

Hiatus in time.
Wondering which way to turn,
leaves blow in the breeze.

Subtle Changes

Some subtle changes.
Green leaves slowly darken hue,
summer shifts onwards.

Golden Carpet

A golden carpet;
leaves covering the green grass,
hiding it from view.

Sun Tan

Sycamore south side
facing the sun;
leaves browning with sun tan
or the first signs of autumn?

Summer

With fleeting footsteps summer flies
away from ever greying skies
and winds that bluster through the trees
sent swaying, gripping tightly leaves
that all too soon will turn to brown
when autumn comes and flutter down
in circling spirals to lie forlorn,
a soggy carpet on the lawn,
while we dream of summer days
glimpsed through autumn’s damp, dark haze.

© Elizabeth Leaper

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