autumn leaves

she's almost gone you know,
autumn, my season -

I catch the last glimpses of her
through the vineyard,
I feel her on my skin
a crisp, but not cold,
in the mornings -
a gentle warmth 
in the afternoon -

she has been a time of preparation,
of harvest, birth -

soap is cured and wrapped
jars of caramel-coloured honey wait to consumed,
herbs, whole chickens, livers, stock bones fill the freezer,

the autumn garden, which was so prolific
a month ago, now grows slowly,
flowers begin to fade, seedlings 
brave the rain and damp -
slugs eat holes in my cabbages,
frost tickles the hills around us

roads are dotted every so often
with oaks
and poplars and plain trees
golden, undressing, unleaving -

I'm not ready for the next season I say to her
I'm not ready for you to slip off 
the horizon,
I'm not ready to wait a year -

you whisper softly 
(as you always do)
you must,

time to recollect ourselves, 
slow down, wrap up,
nourish body and soul,
and winter. 

p.s. our raw honey and cold-process soaps can be found here for sale