Janey...
Winter whispers in my ear, though honeysuckle still scents a sheltered wall
Jane...
Birds swoop and lift and plough in a grey sky, halt in the thin rust shelter of beech and cherry.
Helen...
At dusk the autumn colours spill into the air, and light itself seems pink and orange.
Beverley...
Blueless, windless days. Leaves falling on breath. The linden tree is bare.
Kit...
Hallelujah for Persicaria, the last raspberry blush of colour in my tangle of floral decay.
