Saturday, November 3, 2007
Song's end, Summer's end and Roses
In the garden the ghost of summer clings to the last roses that bloom. It is warm. Flocks of black birds fill the air and sometimes wild geese. Starlings are flying in from far away and bring with them a stir of cold air and an echo of snow on their dark breasts speckled with white.
On the path up the hill a moss covered stone marked the spot where a bird's song ended. Sparrowhawk leaves little but soft feathers behind after a swift kill.
On top of the hill the sky glowed and our fur shone like a setting sun. Autumn will pass swiftly into winter this year.