Autumn Equinox poem

On Hameldown’s shoulders
the mist rises and falls like breath

and here where we tramp through bog

is a palette of mauve and carmine seeding heads

of scabious, red sedge, miniature yellow pimpernel

and bog cotton. Later we discover that we have

simply made lagging circles, but it doesn’t matter –

nor does the rain or fog or the fact that we’re lost.

You lift a spray of bloodred rowanberries to your hat

and the dogs leap and tear in exuberant muddy circles

and on this my birthday, this stillpoint of the turning year

I’m soaked to the bone in full waterproofs even before

I find myself prone in the boggy mud

and I’m laughing to be here with you my daughter

to be here another year and the earth still turning

and the sun still rising each day – and life

oh life is good.

~ Roselle Angwin