The last days

The end of summer, walnut cake and a mug of tea. Wind rattling the beech trees, an agitated flurry and then silence. Thinking of autumn, of walking home across fields, of nights drawing in. Thinking, I will survive this. Thinking, I would like cats, old brick, a river. Sunlight, apple leaves, boats overwintered, hulls scraped clean of barnacles. Silvery rain, solitude worn lightly, ploughed earth, dogs and horses, skeins of geese, an arrow pointing north. These are merely images that please me. The question of how to live remains.