Autumn of my life
The tired gardens of Autumn are beginning to slumber, dry out and wither.
The smell of rotting fruit is somewhat enticing like burnt cake, pungent and warm
everything is left to rot, too late to ripen and even to be picked or eaten.
Rotten stink bugs rub themselves with us, our clothes buzzing in their attempts
to flee and fly away.
I grab one inside my fist and throw it making it fly even if it doesn’t want to,
it leaves behind its perfume on my palm
a strange incense smell that many think is disgusting
The odour reminds me of these short gloomy days with intermittent bursts of sunshine
and the inevitable promise of the encroaching winter
that bring moments of deathly silence.
Strangely these are my favourite days
to reflect and create upon.
