It is almost November
The fallen leaves
Are amusingly blown
And scattered, across the cobbles
The unsettled sky clouds drift slowly
Before occasionally opening, to allow
The warmth of the sun to fall upon me
I am sat in the Lavender Garden
At Buckfast Abbey
And just now I have to squint
To shield my eyes from the bright sunlight
The long shadows, from the herbs
And the flowers edge towards me, they edge
Towards disappearing altogether actually
Shortly I will move into the chapel
Or maybe I will go there
After Conventual Mass
Which today will take place a little later
Because for one thing it is a Sunday
Also because, sometime during the night
Someone gifted one extra hour to my sleep
 |
