The thin ribbon of mist that trickles
it’s way down the river valley at
this time of year, this morning flash-floods
and, on waking, only the very tops
of the trees are visible above the
pale swirl. Dissipating to reveal a
rosy horizon, it leaves behind
the chill of autumn, challenging my
denial of summer’s hesitant withdrawal
by drawing finest grey-white beaded
outlines to the exquisite new alchemila
leaves emerging after the ritual
of a July decapitation.