Thumbs up, Roger!! Great poetic short story for real. Loved it and agree with Kathleen - up for publishing.

Sara

WELL Sara,

HERE IT IS. not exactly gardens but about gardens.

I HOPE THAT THIS SUFFICES?

AUTUMN in england usually drips and greys its way towards winter . Early frosts and fog bringing a promise of what is to come.

With summer's excesses over all is set for a tidy.

Just another Autumn Bonfire

© Roger Macdivitt, 2009

Neatly pruned shrubs reward labour

Autumn leaves, raked and collected

Twigs gathered from beneath the trees

Now lay tangled, like a nest, in the barrow

.

The collected rubbish now lies in a neat pile

Paper and dry wood from the shed

Matches ready, sharply struck

Tongues of flame now devouring the paper

.

The flames, like a myriad of serpents

Writhing, leaping and crackling through the pile

Appearing and disappearing, changing shapes

Collapsing and flaring up again and again

.

I stand back and watch

The flames changing colour

Paper burning yellow

The twigs producing reds and blues

.

The smoke hangs like a curtain in the damp air

Every tiny breeze grasping the smoke

And sending it whirling across the garden

Grey and white and black, stinging my eyes

.

Shapes continue to change, embers glow

The twigs and leaves in turn turning to white ash

Once again the wind forces a response

Leaves wilt and burn and curl

.

Now, as if to mimic a volcano

Hot flames burst through the centre

And as I stir the fire the debris feeds the flames

And cascading twigs tumble into the vent

.

Heat intensifies, flames leap

They seem to compete with the smoke

The air around seems to distort and move

Above the fire the very air seems to scorch

.

Once more smoke becomes dominant, as I add more to the pile

Sparks take to the air like insects

Burning leaves float and drift

Settling, burned and ashen, destroyed

.

Again, the breeze stirs the ash

It glows, burning the oxygen, leaving just ash

All that I supply is hungrily digested

The once lifeless pile now like a pyre

.

Satisfied with a job well done

Clothes and hair smelling like the smoke

Eyes sore and dimmed, my skin tight

I drag together the stray leaves around the fire

.

As the pile diminishes, all is being consumed

The garden takes on a new order in the clearing air

As the last flicker subsides the sun breaks through

Welcome, welcome, autumn sun

.

I head towards the house

Pleased, but relishing clean clothes

A shower, a cup of tea

My favourite chair, TV

.

Till the next time

Roger, I really like that one also!

I can almost smell the smoke, there's something about the smell of outdoor smoke getting into someone's hair and clothing, it's very intriguing.

Roger, a wonderful job! You got me going recalling those days of childhood when the adults burned the leaves. Watching the flames such as you describe, the smoke billows upward and I run through it just knowing that it will lift me up and I shall fly with it.

The smoke lingers on the clothes until they are washed again but the smell and show it brings never leave the memories.

I am so proud of you, my friend, to be able to put your feelings into words on paper. You have found another calling.

Thank you and Happy Holidays from Cedar Hill,

Sara

Sara I am so pleased that you liked it.