First Bite (Poetry)

The air’s so still outside — as though
the morning holds its breath
and time is caught up in the trees —
suspended. Dull as death.

The sun is hidden — swathed in cloud
so-gloomy skies press low
the birds struck dumb, their silence tells
what all God’s creatures know —

that change is spreading — leaf to leaf
there’s nothing to be done
to save the colour bleeding slow —
they’re turning, one by one.

Inside, my thoughts drift pale and sad
nostalgia has its way —
parades a line of quiet ghosts
reflecting on the day

as morning slides to afternoon
the light is squandered fast
and dusk invites the shadows round —
grey pilgrims from the past.

Inside and out, each autumn brings
an underlying fear —
a spectre grown from small regrets
to taunt the aging year...

It haunts the trees — invisible
now every limb’s stock still
anticipating that first touch
of Winter’s biting chill.