Autumn

Poem 421 – Summer’s Passing

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The river mourns, bedraggled willows weep,
their tousled hair drenched in its silent tears.
Its darkened waters meet the dreary mood,
the sun withholds its glow in sympathy.
Otters frolic no more and stay indoors,
above autumnal leaves begin to fall.
The rushes twitch, and coots peer out, as below
their doors the heavy cortege wearily flows.
Perched on his lonely post, dressed in funereal
black, the cormorant bows, pays his respects.
A lowly swan takes flight and passing honks,
‘Alas our green and pleasant land is dead!’

By the end of our walk the sun had come out, but much of our morning stroll had a very different character.
(01.11.25)

© Ben Quant 2025

Poem 414 – Season’s End

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The crest of winter creeps across the land.
Soon will come the crenellations of white
that edge the fringes of the frozen fields
andd lace the country lanes with a glistening sheen.

We walk. Fingers unused to the cold welcoming
the warmth afforded by coat pockets when thrust
into their hidden depths. Despite the carpet
of autumnal leaves, the light’s subdued, dialled down.

Our conversation hushed, we huddle close
contemplating the coming chill. Even
the birds are so, as summer songs are silenced.
The world draws in and waits for winter’s veil.

We shared an enjoyable walk this morning. The sun is out today, but the signs are there that the seasons are turning.
(25.10.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Sue Winston on Unsplash

Poem 723 – Twilight Driving

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The autumn light’s a nowhere liminal place.
The grisly rain descends in grimy grey,
its slimy fingers obscure my vision’s scope.
Passing figures flicker into view
then fade, phasing both in and out like phantoms
haunting the highway in their hazy dusk.
It’s time to temper haste and take no risks.
I turn my wipers on, weary and worried
that I might slip and strike some passerby
before I see them. I slow my speed and pray.
Fearing my vehicle’s veered into a violent
twilight realm, been trapped or transported
to find itself amongst the fickle fae
(how I fear their wily ways!), I wish that I
could wake at once to morning’s welcoming light,
and fix my thoughts upon finding my way to you.

Evening driving in autumnal drizzle.
(19.10.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Justin Cron on Unsplash

Poem 710 – The Nottingham Coast

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This gentle green descends towards the horizon
which laps around its edge in waves of cloud.
Surprisingly, the playful sun is out, its
autumnal heat washes over us,
awakening birds that shriek in joyful play.
We walk, my father and I, along the hedgerows
reaching like groynes into the fields, alert
to fungi, berries and other harvest gifts.
Strolling along this Nottingham coast we let
it roll over our toes with grateful thanks.

Dad and I went for a delightful walk in the Nottingham countryside today, regretting in the surprisingly summer-like weather.
(06.10.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Ries Bosch on Unsplash

Poem 675 – Turning

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And just like that the shorts have gone away,
the evening dimmed a little earlier.
Dandelions no longer cheer the lawn
now thoughts have turned to autumn.

The summer has been carefully folded up,
and stored in crates of happy memory.
Its carefree days of sun and play will now
only be opened from time to teasing time.

And in the mirror in the store I caught
a passing glimpse of changing seasons,
a hint of what has been, is now, and is
still yet to be, thus turning thoughts to autumn.

The seasons are turning as the schools begin to return.
(01.09.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Matt on Unsplash

Poem 329 – Until

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The dying light briefly tinges treetops
with a bronze flourish, a terracotta tone,
suggestive of the summer past. Catching
the yellow leaves, it hints of a reprieve.

It is, however, only momentary,
a briefest farewell kiss before departure,
a passing gesture to sustain us through
the coming darkness, until Spring’s dawn.

Looking out of my window this evening, the sky turned the objects a slightly otherworldly colour tonight, just before darkness descended. A companion piece to yesterday’s poem.
(20.10.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Uta Scholl on Unsplash

Poem 291 – Transfigured

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The early morning sun rises at we do,
shivers then casts its rays upon our windows,
revealing in their panes the evidence
of life that has pressed itself against their glass.
These traces sparkle under its caress,
lit up in brilliant white to make us blush.
A delicate weave with downward threads outlined
like the curving paths of stars in timelapse captured.
A smear from Reynard’s tail when jumping the fence.
Paw marks made by a mad squirrel seeing
a rival in his face reflected there.
The outline of a feathered angel captured
transfigured in a momentary pose.
These illuminated memories shine
but briefly; all too soon the spell has passed.

I should be embarrassed by state of our windows, but when the autumn sun shines on them, something beautiful is revealed. (UPDATE: A few have asked me who the Reynard is that appears in a few of my poems. He’s a trickster fox from stories starting in mediaeval times. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reynard_the_Fox)
(13.09.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Richie Bettencourt on Unsplash