The autumn is breathtaking
The cider coloured sun shining on the hills of Lee

Crisp red and golden clarity ringing in his brain. He could be four again. Dungarees, diggers, the smell of the warm autumnal glow

The air brings tangible nostalgia. BMX bikes and purple ghosts. If he strolls down the alleyway he can still see the home of his folks. The swing’s no longer there but if he closes his eyes he can still hear shouts of laughter.

“Good bowling Grandad.”

Open his eyes, no more cricket bats. Grandad is no longer. An intense but distant memory

Get into the car now, lanyard round his neck, making a difference?

Thinking about that distant autumnal boy

Copyright John de Gruyther 2016

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