Draw back the curtain. <br />It’s a cold morning. <br />Grass, pistaccio <br />below the white rimmed hedge, <br />half hidden by a rug <br /> of brown sugared leaves <br />crackling in the sun. <br /> <br />Scrape the windows, <br />warm the cold engine, <br />join the others on the frosty road, <br />out into the lanes, <br />to run the gauntlet of the trees, <br />that, now released <br />from summer’s green <br />are posed along the way, <br />their personalities in autumn <br />proudly on display. <br /> <br />The oaks <br />spread wide their twisted arms <br />from stocky trunks, <br />fragile fingers at the ends, <br />holding out last vestiges of gold. <br />Horse chestnuts, <br />still part-dressed in tarnished lime, <br />rub elbows with the willows, <br />stately in flowing robes of rusting green, <br />mediaeval queens <br />a little past their glowing prime. <br /> <br />The birches wear their stylish mottled bark <br />Like models on a catwalk, swaying, <br />Delicate hair draped on narrow frames. <br />And firs strut, <br />macho in their geometric forms, <br />as though to say, <br />“ We don’t fear any storms”. <br />But the beeches – oh the beeches – <br />flaming up, hot, burning hot, <br />eclipsing all the rest - <br />the beeches are the best!<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/landscapes-collection-autumn-trees/
