Early Autumn Evening in Hilton

Pale ice-dome sky rises
Out of a peach-gold sunset,
Arching over the darkening town,
Its vast expanse broken
By cloud-smoke swathes of lilac and grey,
And silhouetted shapes of trees and rooftops.

Flame robed trees,
Pin-oaks, poplars and maples,
Shed their exotic garments piecemeal,
Lifting their nuding limbs to the cold sky,
In dancing defiance
Of winter’s presaged chill.

Rubber-soled joggers
Lost in their iPod worlds and
Deaf to the barking of neighbourhood dogs,
Crunch carelessly over the gold-brown carpet of leaves
That smothers the road verges,
And puff breath clouds measure their cadent passing.

As gloom descends and ice-blue sky turns to dusky grey,
Street lights open their bright eyes
Winking a welcome
To home bound cars
And wood-smoke drifts from tall chimneys
Silhouetted black
Against the charcoal sky.

My spirits lift
As a voice within,
Speaking of light and warmth,
Of armchairs and fire light
And air redolent
With the smell of home cooking
Calls me home to my hillside refuge.