Twice it seemed that a car approached; the third time I knew but looked anyway; it was the storm wind shouldering tree branches. Wind pressed the rain deep into my coat, hunted through the harsh cut hedges to find anything shakable. Colours of the autumn kept me warm. In the patch of strawberry leaves, some flowers struggle. One ripe fruit waits for me; pops a last sweet summer taste.
At home, carpets are swept, floor tiles mopped, cloths sweep surfaces, mats struck on the house wall release dust into rain and the rain binds it to the driveway and the history of our footprints is held with it.
All day the fire is lit.