Pausing to wonder at the angry wildness
Of the dark flowing waters, channelled
By the thick timbers and iron gears of the lock.
Seeing the fallen leaves swirling in the black rush
Rising and falling madly like frightened fish
Caught in a mechanical trap unable to get free.
Walking along the path and seeing across the river
A great flourish of rich, majestic hues and colours,
Golden yellows, dark greens, mauves and purples,
Not declaring a new thing but stating again
The beautiful testament of decay and dying,
The promise of renewal and of re-birth.
Stopping to look at the sombre blueberries
Subdued by autumn, wintered by the cold winds.
And the blackberries, once full bloodied,
Shrivelled against the dull thorned leaves of
Stripped hedges below the ash and alder, beech
And birch and towering oaks of the silent woods.
Suddenly, standing still, sharing a passing second,
Held by something eternal perhaps; observing the light
Cascading through the brilliant leaves, a yellow brightness,
Luminous, burning without warmth, the odd dynamics
Of the winter sun creating a moment filled with peace
That bows my soul and defies all my understanding.
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