Summerfall

Summerfall is here, bright boughs of berries, sloe blue, hawthorn red. The old man’s beard is gathering pace, creeping and unfurling his snowy tendrils.

Crab apples sit hard and tart, wisely awaiting more rain. 

But the blackberries cannot wait and are feeding the bees, butterflies and midnight moths. Sweet and plump with sunlight sugars, they came home to purple a crumble. 

A small anvil found, its blacksmith absent, searching for more to rhythmically hammer and feast. 

And the unseen wasps magically engineering elaborate homes from such humble fruits. Never seen entering or leaving only text books tell. 

A baked land this year, hard ground, hard living in the wild. But the confetti hedges of spring have provided, to fatten all in beautiful summerfall.