First leaf fall from the sapling
in the home paddock. Rough
and taste-tested by someone
at some time during the season.
One edge jagged and true to the flag
of its ancestral home. The other dulled,
a flattened curve on a graph, indicating
success or the ravages of drought.
Such wilful slender to go out blazing,
imperfect. Our Antipodean home
more remote in the autumn of pandemic,
our tenuous hold more fragile than ever.
While Spring is beginning to yield to summer here in the Antipodes, I am thinking of friends in the Northern hemisphere with gratitude and love.
Horse. Farm. Life. 