I sense the end of summer

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the smell of spread pig shit on heavy air, the earthy odour of newly turned soil, the pitch of tractor engines labouring to pull ploughs,

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green fields turned gold, losing their sheen as monster-sized combine harvesters growl open-mouthed over hill after hill, a flurry of dusty activity, leaving clean shorn emptiness and straw

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tractors and bailers hurry behind, grain trailers filled, dryers rumbling, straw bailed, hay bundled,  landscape rumbling with the sound of heavy machines at work

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onto the cleared space flock wild geese, filling land and air with loud calls, wide wing-spans, noisy comings and goings

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the satisfactory weight of good grazing on the backs of cattle grown fat and wild and shaggy over long months on summer grass

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apples hang heavy on low bowing trees, gardens show their deepest greens and reds, buzzing with wasps and butterflies over dropped plums

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forests turn dark and broody, filled with the smell of fungi and the passing of seasons, moist soil hungry for leaves soon to fall

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sound of the wind leaning to autumn, tugging at dark resisting leaves still held back by stray strands of summer’s golden hair,

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end of lovely summer, the start of something new

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