Mid-August, even so, a faint hint, gift
of autumn momentarily — a sweet
soft breeze. With slender branches trees entreat
a sift of foliage. Their fingers lift.
Then half a dozen paper leaves adrift
blow in and dance round summer-sandalled feet,
though brief, their restlessness another fleeting
sign of imminent and massive shift.
The season’s on the very cusp.
Disagree with half of it, enjoy reading all of it
TRY A MONTH FREE
Our magazine articles are for subscribers only. Try a month of Britain’s best writing, absolutely free.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate, free for a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first month free.
UNLOCK ACCESS Try a month freeAlready a subscriber? Log in