Moss Bunnies

Behind that old oak
are moss bunnies
nestled into the woody scent
sniffing at the turn of the seasons
from sap to sun to spice
green fur soft with all the memories
of all the flowers tasted
all the rustling leaves caressed
with curious eyes
watching fields turn golden
they roll around in the shimmer
green dusted with specks of light

Ivy Snakes

Ivy snakes hiss-humming against
the trees they embrace
sampling rain off slick, moist bark
with their last green tongues of the year
to count down on moss-tuft calendars
the days of warmth
before falling into frozen sleep
full of long, winding snake dreams
of skittering down to the icy lake
leaving sinuous trails in powdery snow

A Creature

A nameless creature of fog
and rotten wood
pieced together in feverish dreams
yet gentle and bound
by mushroom mycelium: no dark magic

A living fairy ring, benign
dancing through the forest
collecting a fire of autumn leaves
curling up around it, whispering tales
to itself and the occasional wanderer

Gossamer Summer

Turning to the softer side of summer
bound in gossamer and cassette tapes
replaying dreams of open fields
forests, meadows, mountain days
on the brink of turning to autumn gold
days hanging in the hazy air
between two blinks of an eye
yet endless in their ancient taste
rowan, fern, morning dew
dust tasting of adventure and hey
requesting travellers to roam

Autumn Snails

Autumn days sticking to the window
lazy like snails, lounging
in the morning light, jewels muted glossed over in fog

dreaming around lunch
about the dusty fabric of space
in the curtain folds beyond
a glass horizon: time to move on

looking for the taste of
sun-coloured leaves, the fire
of rain glittering on crisp afternoons
and sliding down the window pane