Autumn at lunchtime bench by Karen Hill-Green

Autumn at a lunchtime bench

Wind pushes up against me.

It whispers ‘get back to work.’

A minute more.


I close my eyes.

Beauty Helleborus trills

its muffled song

from marbled mounds;

when winter knocks,

the purple stems

and white teardrops

will fade to green.


Scent of faint Rosa Kent

wafts on the breeze;

cinnamon sweet and scarce,

she clings to bark

and nestles underleaf.


Ahead a pigeon,

back and forth and back,

eyes on black alert.

Its white cousins flap

to the burbling dove-cote.

One lands, one flies

over the green-skinned pond

where rings erupt by

leathery lily pads;

the silent promise of life below.


Down the path

silver threads of snails,

doggedly on

to somewhere else

as trees drip drip drip

their dying green.


Zigzagging flies tango

on bench slats,

the tiny backpacking lives

bizz buzzing with purpose.


I get up,

brush the crumbs

of my small life

onto the gravel

and go back to work.


 Copyright the author and first published by Friends of Rowntree Park on Nov. 26th, 2013


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