The lace lingerie of early autumn mists
morphs to winter winceyette heavy along
the river bed and tucked into bare hedgerows.
Soggy garden squelches along my progress
as the land claims me, draws me away from screens,
technology and comfort; instincts triumph.
Killing me softly in baby pinks and blues
the day bites into my bones, challenges me
with the kind of pain I would go lengths to avoid
as I snuggle deeper into old sheepskin
and huff white clouds over my shoulder.