All things descending

The season falls, I watch
Without control
The split and bounce of conkers
Into the mist,
The rain and covering of burnt orange
Shed by the sun.

The wind sweeps time up
In front of me,
Sailed on by a yellow wagtail -
She still looks like Spring.
But the squirrels are ready -
Listening, claws sharp 

And eager to dig.

I'm not sure what I'm meant to let go of,
Yet,
Or what to search for 
Under the wisps of this year,
Settling.

But maybe all things descending
Will leave answers in my hands -
Solid as shells,
Green as the ivy always sure of herself -
Maybe all things descending
Will leave answers.

LJ Ireton 2023