Socks and shoes

Your feet make jam of crushed fallen fruits on
the pavement as you walk to work -
you remember the feeling of putting on
an ironed white shirt warm from the radiator,
stiff grey pinafore,
your blue and gold school tie, dutifully learned.

Something about September renders you overly nostalgic,
yearning for the memory of
nature tables scattered with dusty leaves,
thinking about
buying more candles and
the last sea swims of the year.

You buy a brown jumper and it makes you think of your gran -
she'd have liked it.
She would have accessorised with a brooch;
perhaps a brooch
that you have now, in a jewellery box in your bedroom.

You have old friends over for dinner,
and talk about her,
and that feels good.
Time sleeks on.
Your Rothko calendar is depressing this month -
just black and grey.

Those overblown autumn skies are still a thrill, though,
all bright and high,
a promise that it's not going to get
too cold
too soon.
But you draw the blinds a little earlier in the evenings,
pull the duvet up a little higher when you go to sleep.

In the morning, you have a cup of tea in the garden
and see your breath for the first time in months.

Change is in a leaf that spins down
from your neighbour's tree.
You finish your tea.
Socks and shoes today.