Wintry
The nights are
closing in,
crisp mornings
barely light the way
into a
semi-lucid winter’s day.
Air hangs
limply, shedding mist,
suspending
rain til it fancies to fall.
A silent
green permeates it all.
Sinking mud
hugs our booted feet,
a hard slog
through sodden leaves,
blackbirds
chortling in the trees.
We almost
expect a hobbit house
to poke through
sunken hedgerows,
coffee
beans tempting the cold nose.
Copyright Vickie
Johnstone, November 23, 2020
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