The trees nod their heads in the warm autumn breeze,
Put on their finest robes of red, orange and yellow
Then shimmy and dance in delight,
Working themselves into a frenzy of thrashing limbs.
Inflamed with lust,
They hurriedly disrobe to scatter their fine clothes all around.
Carried away in the heady intoxication
Too keen to dare to stop,
They fling their bright costumes asunder, in the wind,
In an orgy of delight –
But never know when to stop.
In passion they discard
More than modesty would find discrete,
And stand denuded
In their skeletons – bereft.
I wrote this on the way home from the Roy Harper gig in Edinburgh. It is mid-September and we could just detect the first signs of autumn. A few patches of leaves were showing a hint of yellow.
In a month the green will give way to an array of yellows, orange and red. We talked of visiting The East Coast of the States and Canada to witness the splendour. The winds will blow and then the leaves will fall leaving the intricate skeletal branches to stand against the sky and wait patiently for the warmth to return.
I felt the trees, dressed in their greatest finery would dance in that wind and then disrobe themselves in one last orgy of lust. But in their frenzy they would not only remove their clothes but their flesh too.