Autumnal
Raining acorns in the car park today: the clattering fall of them through the branches and onto the tarmac echoed between the trees.
A green woodpecker, its harsh call startling and loud in the yellow sunshine, flew up into the branches of a tree, and a red kite drifted overhead on cranked wings.
The yellowing leaves in the late morning sun.
The glare of light on an adjacent car's metal trim.
Thinking about the seasons changing, the turn of every life towards death.
Missing the dead.
Remembering watching the squirrels in the trees last week as they stripped the acorns from branch after branch, and the sound of the discarded bits hitting hard on the roofs of the parked cars below. The animals' distant unconcern for what was below. The miraculous arcs of evolution finding them here, in their companion trees; and me sitting there, with the capacity to watch, articulate what I see in language, and feel the ache of my understanding so little and making so little of my time. Thinking about the wasted hours. Vowing to myself to change. The imperative of going back to your desk, in the heart of the building, where natural light does not fall.
Gloom.
