Clocks turned back will spring winter on us.
Throughout the day a last memory of sun filled evenings as I wind the summer back, back to the sea encircling those slow days and to a glint of green and the dark red of flowers in my mother’s yard.
The evenings were walked on promenades clouded with perfume, the tourists thin frocked and eager eyed, touting their ease.
Before winter dark-fall, I think again of the friend’s farm where gorse lined tracks smelling of sweet milk trail valleys and climb sheep-ward.
I think of that long summer misted morning when tear stained we made our goodbyes, as with sudden speed the boat moved and your waving was gone.
On summer time’s last day I walk a city park, note precisely the time light fades and in the evening doze in a quiet room. Winter rattles the memory, knowing that tomorrow the darkness will come sooner.