A little retrospection to last month and the autumn heat so recently enjoyed.

The nature-lover is Helen B Cruickshank. Her lines come from the volume of her Collected Poems published by Reprographia in 1971.

SEPTEMBER NOON

Russet bracken, a spider spinning,

White tails bobbing in burrows of sand;

A finch is feeding on silver thistle,

A late bee settles upon my hand.

Still are the woods in the heat of autumn,

Fearless the rabbits, so still I lie

Happy to see the spider spinning,

While dreams like down go floating by.

Golden leaf from a yellowing birch-tree

Softly falls on the spider's thread;

The silken line on the frond is broken

The coloured finch from the thistle fled.

Stiffly I rise from the bracken covert,

The rabbits scuttle in panic flight;

The golden moment I held is over,

The air gone chill, and the sun less bright.

The cares of living come back in legions,

The glamour is gone from the autumn wood,

So frail a thread as the spider's spinning

Can carry a dream, or enchant a mood.