The Door Bolted

Sycamore leaves floating like feathers in the autumn breeze – a blanket of gold and rust covers the ground like a magical carpet

The Arab Stallions in the meadow watch the seasons change with curiosity, and carry on chewing as they observe

Manic bats come out of their barn – darting furiously, searching for prey

The confident fox arrives for his evening meal – sniffing through bins, he finds a feast of days-old chicken – the smell is putrid

Dodger, the local stray cat shows up for a nose, always inquisitive and clever, he stands back and keeps vigil

Moisture covers the cooling earth, nature knows no other way. The moon is waxing and waning across the navy sky, stars glowing like nubile skin

Winter stories will soon be told. Sitting cross-legged around a wood burning stove – the children so sleepy they never hear the end. Maybe in spring they will learn who put the jam in Mrs Applegate’s soup

Weary creatures are ready to sleep – their bellies are full and contented once more

The moon is on its revolving journey to wake the new day

Curtains closed and shutters locked – no more to see until dawn

The Door Bolted




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