Thursday, 24 September 2009


Camomile camouflage
breeze blur birdsong.

Final fling of a Summer that fades fast around the edges of each night. They say that night equals day this time of year. But I'm not so sure.

I am watching the shrinking of days, the collapse of light on evenings that lean in too soon. It's all we talk about as we dig the last potatoes from the warm dusty earth and cupboard them in the dark.