Oil on canvas
46 x 66 cm
It's been a glorious autumn.
I was there when, of all the trees on the common,
a single beech decided to sprinkle its gold before me.
I saw the harvest moon grow, night by night, to fullness
then flood my home with brilliance
and I can't remember when I've kicked through so many leaves
turning them over and over again.
It's been wonderful to be present in this autumn
and, as the year wanes, to reconstruct my life.
Wally, meanwhile, is deconstructing.
Though he looks as snug as a bug in his heap of sheets
with mind as keen as ever, his diseased body stops him walking.
So I do a march past this doughty veteran of sub-continental wars –
who I only did battle with over the bridge table
and a few principles –
to say that I respect him, despite those principles.
Yes, it's been a glorious autumn
and this year I was silent at 11.