The leaves are late this year
The golden woods
Hold tight to their treasure
And on the misty hill
My moorland oak
Still beautiful
In dark brown softness
The wind is up from the east
My legs feel the chill
And my energy is low
But the Kestrel cuts through
Cold air with grace and ease
And leads me as she moves
From pole to pole
Like a gentle current
In a racing tide
#CoSopoetry