A look at what interests me and keeps me sane in rural West Wales.
Thursday, 15 September 2011
From windfall apples reel drunken wasps, And a cat curls asleep in the border, Coat rusty with age and lifted with purrs. A hollyhock unfurls crimson skirts, and A moth stutters like Morse code from flower to flower, Discarding each daisy thrice visited. White-bellied spiders teeter from leaf to stem, Hurrying from the gardener's hand, As it pauses, cuts, And summer's magic collapses to the ground.