Late Summer

This morning I used the stepping stones of freshly poured gold
To walk between the trees.

I breathed the night-cleansed air that I have too long taken for granted,
Filled my lungs until they burst.

I felt the warmth of the climbing sun on my face and fondly
Remembered loved-ones long gone.

I tasted the forest on my palate, like good wine, and thought
Of friends I could invite to dinner.

I saw autumn in the parched undergrowth and wilting leaves
And suddenly grew impatient for its technicolour thrill.

This morning I drank the world in and it stayed with me
And that is all I can ask.

August 2023