Gentle waves of melancholy Wash against my mind. Never enough to pull me down - They serve to remind me Of past happinesses, And joys yet to be experienced.

Gentle waves of melancholy Wash against my mind. Never enough to pull me down - They serve to remind me Of past happinesses, And joys yet to be experienced.
Autumn’s southerlies arrive –
Snapping towels on clotheslines, and
Sneaking under doors.
‘An ill wind’ some will say.
For me it’s a herald.
Reminding me of the the things
The winter season brings –
The season of no lawn mowing,
Porridge for breakfast,
Shorter days and longer, cosy nights.
Making fog when we speak and laugh,
As we walk rugged in scarves and jackets.
The sound of dry and fallen leaves
Rattled against my bedroom window,
As a promising wind gusts.
The weight of the kite,
As it struggles for freedom –
In winters’ brilliance.
Carving a virgin wave through frigid,
salt flavoured air –
On a rare winter swell.
Scudding clouds,
Frozen puddles, and
Red roses –
No sign of illness I say.