Cusp of Change
I hear the countdown to winter’s arrival
in the wingbeats of migrating birds.
I smell damp earth, rotting leaves
and whiffs of wood smoke.
I taste the change as salads disappear
and I sip on steaming soups instead.
I feel the chill of the approaching solstice
in the touch of evening shadows.
I see myself in the mirror,
almost another year older.
in the wingbeats of migrating birds.
I smell damp earth, rotting leaves
and whiffs of wood smoke.
I taste the change as salads disappear
and I sip on steaming soups instead.
I feel the chill of the approaching solstice
in the touch of evening shadows.
I see myself in the mirror,
almost another year older.
This poem is copyright (©) Kathryn Dove 2024
About the Writer
Kathryn Dove
Kathryn writes fiction and poetry for children. She enjoys the alchemy of poetry and seeing how a dash of imagination can transform ordinary life into something surprising and wonderful. She has lived in London and spent a summer working in a small village on the west coast of Scotland. Kathryn now lives with her family in Auckland, New Zealand.
