And so it begins. Or ends

The seasons change and as

September dies lies forgotten

Like Summer, Autumn October

Rears. Not misty mellow fruitfullness

With rusty leaf colour bright splashing

Hedgerow and tree russet yellow brown,

Mists that turn to rain and wind and heavy

Rain splashing in the track ruts and puddles

Around the farm;  every field soggy with all the

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 Our thoughts are squat frogs sploshing around in the foggy marsh of our minds. A croak here, a croak there, then they disappear into murkiness plopping up later, random and undetermined to splosh and croak some more.

Oh! that they were leaping salmon heading up through swirls and rocky torrents, progressing against currents and foam; the fish and river sparkling in the sun. Achieving at last ...

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