The air has a nip battered leaves rustle restless battlements of grey cloud move in, threatening - September is here with its golden haze and wilting ways the bees are busy with the last of the nectar on crocosmia and mint, butterflies are out but the skies are quiet all gold when the sun shines but the day broods and pines for summer as it leaves and sheds its clothes - soon all will be naked ready for the snowsnext poem