... the road (friend of jackdaws and crooked hearts)
stretches up into a dusk of glassy gold.
Her leaves steeped in autumn light.
A fountain of yellow falls upon the dying blooms of the carpet man's tender care.
I wait under the silent skies... silent save for the transcendent whoop of life and the distant laugh of rooks. I can feel my heart beat... and hear the pulse of blood around my head... and the sparrows in the hedgerow... and the pop and swish of falling leaves...
The church clock strikes, rolling over rooftops and fields and on and on up to the wordless woods.
The earth sings such magnificent hymns to the soul.