The old mandarin’s in fruit again. Green nuggets mostly but some are already turning.
The girl is pegging towels into the pull and slap of the Southerly. The wind has dried her hair into a russet frizz. ‘Look at me,’ she says turning her head from side to side, laughing.
Picture the street shimmering in late summer haze, how it will be on that clear winter’s day — the palm trees, the alfresco diners, the fresh-shaved poodle trembling at the door of the pet grooming place — identical.
Grey and warm all day but then around five a squall of rain caught me. Cold, I felt bereft. I remember as a kid sheltering in a barn, holding a jar with a newt we’d netted from a pond far across the tilled fields of Essex, watching through sheets of rain as evening came on.
Through its dark territory
slow as walking
rounds the shark.
Image: The Greenland shark By NOAA Okeanos Explorer Program [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. You can read more about these ancient creatures here. And because the season’s are changing, here’s Max Richter’s take on Vivaldi’s 4 seasons.