October’s Pretence.

Rain, nature is greening, but it’s a false spring; December will pale the land into submission. Do not write poetry till February, when almond trees blossom and strew petals about in protest thinking winter takes the season of its sinister drama too far. Last winter snow fell, a wonder land; people said they had not seen snow for forty seven years. The stream is xanthous I think of China’s main river where dolphins, not seen for years, swim in cloudy water. What can’t be seen cannot be caught by man. Dawn, on the track a boar, sniffed the air and grunted; a hairy, pig in need of a pair of glasses. I moved and it disappeared into the brushwood. On nature walks I used to take a camera, but wild animals hate having their photo taken and avoided my intrusive lens I was left with taking photos of trees, weeds and evergreen bushes. My lazy dreaminess has paid off I have had a good life no one ever expected anything glorious of me, and left me in peace. If you look for me I will be on a bus trying to find the fabulous castle; I once saw when I could see the future.