Following The Sun (Poetry)

There is a shiver through the trees
a whisper carried on the wind
a hint that brings its own unease
and finds warm summer’s comfort thinned.

When light goes through a subtle change
a different angle plays upon
the hills and mountains rearrange
their shadows, tilting with the sun.

The air adopts a restless mood
and ripples up the placid lake
the sky hangs close and over-blued
and some nerve-ending starts to ache ...

The season is about to turn
the wild geese sense it — so do I
in unison our flesh-clocks yearn
each knowing soon it’s time to fly.