Slowly the air settles, settles into the stillness
Balmy days, September in a tarmacadam car park
Thorns and pines, limes and grasses,
Birds cooing over by the sheltered stream
These are ordinary days, days without exception
Unless you take account of the couple
In the mock-Tudor maisonette
Their story told all over the village without regret
These are trees, painted with a watercolour brush
Whose imagination picks out faces of indiscretion
Caught up in the slowdown we turn towards winter
Fallen leaves gracefully trace the skeletal formations
Gates are left unopened
Footpaths suggest a route to dereliction
Pathways to the gradual, irreversible decay of a life
Settled in the stillness of these oh so barmy days
