Change of Season

At the seaside I notice a last desperate flurry of activity before the demise of summer.

 I also notice our elders beginning to don gloves and socks, specifically designed to deal with colder climes.

While the rest of us scurry for comfort, they'll stick it out all winter long...or for as long as they can. This poem is for them.

Autumn

The park has been shorn of its summer mane

And wears a razed pate, smelling of meadow- sweet

And nettle and yarrow- strewn across its salon floor

 And in the garden I practice euthanasia

Root out jaded lobelia, cut back and secateur all

That is stooping and failing

And at the shoreline Mothers stand lifeguard

While their young take a final plunge

Before the tyranny of school timetable begins

And though the temperature is dropping

And lifeguards pack away their red and yellow paraphernalia

Our elders wade in, ready to embrace and endure 

This change that has begun to shift