28th October 2015
Have you noticed how the colour of the morning is yellow
Now that the days are shorter and the sun hangs low in the sky?
I mention this because it is Wednesday, and my birthday. If you have
Become sixty-five, or passed it, you too, will know, that
It is necessary to savour days like this one: hold it,
Not too tightly, and dare enough to venture out alone in
Solitude. There's a commodity not of this century, and conjoined with
Silence, a fitting present. I walk across the ploughed
Field peeping winter wheat, thick with Midland mud.
I rattle through the gate causing hopeful horses to canter up, whiffling for an apple..
I am for the woods. The yellow-light is amber here, and what space there is,
Is tunnelled by low-hanging boughs.
This is a day to remember all my golden days,
And anoint their beauty with an outpouring of thankfulness.