It's Still Life

Austice

I sit amongst the crisp fringes of leaves,
the trees are giving way to autumn.

There used to be jasmine here, but
we dug it up after it knocked the fence down.

And there used to be grass up to the door.
But by July it was always straw.

It’s a patio now, a table and four chairs.
There was a time when four chairs were enough.

I prune the roses, and prick my fingers
on the thorns. I breathe to remind myself

I’m alive. But I never wander too far from
my soul, and I always ramble back home.

Blackberries in the hedgerows are ripening.
Juice filled. Molten black. Black onyx.

Black as a handful of stolen stars that
rattle like Sussex pebbles on a beach.

Summer left on the wings of geese.
There’s a word for all of this, it’s austice.

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Inspired by Flashback Friday, “Our House“.  #FBTF Austice: a wistful omen of the first sign of autumn—a subtle coolness in the shadows, a rustling of dead leaves abandoned on the sidewalk. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter