It is with childlike wonder I smile,
as the fading dark reveals only white.
All colour has been drained,
a new ‘paint by numbers’ picture.
has done a good job, for the sun cannot,
with it’s dry heat, bleach the world better.
Everything is still, preserved.
in the Beech looks perplexed,
finding himself in this skeletal land
where the flesh of greens and browns
has gone, leaving crystal twig bones,
moreish red berries now cold pearls.
And the air is frozen dust,
patiently waiting it’s turn to sink
and become frost.