Dogs In Autumn Poem by Michael Maxwell Steer

Two of them
running golden throu the stubble,
camouflaged
by sunlight, so that only crackling
marks their progress.

Mother knowing,
nose gundog sharp: the pup
torn between
her hurtling energy and mine,
distant, watching.

"Is it really okay? " She glances
me-ward as they disappear
in lazy sunlight over a contour
of the field. Perfect weather.

A distant hum of harvesting.
A train threading coloured stripes
throu the dense woods opposite.
Birdsong flooding back in behind it.

Chase abandoned,
the dogs rebound breathless and anxious;
corn crackling grows
until they're jumping up and licking.
Forbidden of course!

Early autumn:
Time outside time, summer's nostalgia
not yet turned bitter:
Is this how life's always been -
Always new?


14/10/03