September, mid afternoon; we hear the constant fluctuation of wasps in the willow arch, hungry and heedless of the hornets that are raiding wasp-grubs.
Leaves are drying, edging into new colour, whispering.
Indoors, every hour is backgrounded in blips. Apple wine, timing its own fermentation, a liquid metronome.
September, first autumn month, the ninth month, the evening: against the dark, logs crackle fierce in the fire pit. Wine sloshes into glasses; a soothing mesmer made. Eyes droop. We stoop to bed hearing ourselves list jobs to be done, plans that slide into dreams of us on our land, and there is music playing and we are laughing (but this is us snoring, by now.)
September dawn, birds’ chorus bursting bright.
Later in the morning, coffee softly drops into a pot.
Lovely writing, as always. I sure wish it were cool enough to merit a merry fire in our fireplace. We've had a couple days hit 95 recently, and it's "only" expected to hit 90 today. The spirit is willing to think about baking apple pies, but the body's still feeling like sticking with the summertime treats.
ReplyDeleteYep, I would stick with the summertime treats in your place! Hope the heat gives you some respite soon :-)
DeleteLove this! Made me feel part of what was going on x love the pic too xx
ReplyDeleteThank you :-) Good to know, because drawing the reader in is an important part of writing for me xx
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