adroit, adept, conker, weary boeuf and stew. The nights are closing in; the mushrooms sprouting on their monopeds. The pipes are closing in with nights re-wakening with heating.
Here above, some words combined at the end of September last year as autumn brought in a change of light, of taste preferences, of colours and of temperature. Autumn brings in earlier darkness, fallings conkers, longed for comforting stews and a weariness at the thought of the long winter ahead. Sylvia Plath’s poem always comes to mind when the mushrooms make their seasonal appearance. I see the little fungi relishing the increased dampness in the soil and the dank of darker mornings in self-fuelling ways I simply envy.
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys and Shining in Brightness