The magpies

nesting in the beech

began shouting

angry

to see a squirrel

in their tree

Attracted

like bad boys in the playground

more magpies

joined in

hopping from branch to branch

a harsh chatter

of anger

The squirrel

preferring a quiet life

left

by way of my garden

wall

Today the tree is silent

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And then, suddenly, it was calm - the morning wind which threw

rain hard against the window panes and sent beech leaves rushing

across the grass to pile gold-brown against all that the borders grew,

all slowly dulling their greens to wet, muted browns, brushing

the soil as their leaves curl and droop - vibrant Spring-strength gone,

fading sadly.

                         The wind ...

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