The weather has been dry and perfect for kicking up a leaf storm. There is one of those futile piles of leaves still in evidence – I go into the pile –
Dusk is drawing in as i circle the ponds and as I arrive at the zig zag I see the sllhouettes of a couple out walking their dog and the flashing of the green glowing collar doubling and tripling the loops of the stone bridges at the Fleischmanns, her joyful skidding scattering the mulch and raising the brown-black scent of decay in the dampening air.
And the swamp Cypress arches her back to the changing shift of the night sky.
The river endlessy flows west in the glen valley groove while on the upper outskirts the night call sirens swirl
Towards the end of the week the wind picks up and the creaking of the trees add another dimension to the descent into the Glen
Up on the heath I take the high road East towards the end and I pass the wizened puffballs…along the gorse hedge and through the hawthorn gateway to the party place where the cans and prophylactic wrappers remain, bobbing ivy berries hover and beckon in time with the passing traffic and I think of the unicorn headdress I picked up at the beginning of the month.
