Autumn

It was early; freed,

And carrying the sun on our backs,
We, like Indians, looking for signs
Followed the tracks of horses
Beyond the unfolding lane,
Beneath a circle of birds
And the scatter of farms,
Drawn on down to the sounds of water.

At first, hunched into our coats,

We spoke little working the hill as individuals,
Our Everest of intent. With tightened breath,
Skittered stones and dragging mud
We broke free to rest red and shining
Above the green of Somerset, warmed,
Ready to return to the cold folds of
The valley below, always looking for water.

And, like water we meandered on,

Ever gently down, finding our own level;
Pausing briefly to gather bearings,
Chattering like magpies, one
For sorrow, two for joy; walking in the company of ghosts
Through glowing woods of brown, red and gold
Down to where the horses drink.

Then, with the sun still high, weightless,

We followed the river eastwards,
Quickening to its pace; always watching,
Listening, sharing, hoping for more while
Feeling the closing in of years; wishing for the sea.