The wild rye and I

These wild rye husks
Only just heavier than air
Jiggle on their stems in the wind
They’re well and truly unruly 

Story has it that autumn is on the loose
It’s the talk of the town,
The neighbouring grapes are in
A month ahead or more,
Harvested in haste to dodge the hail.
The farmer’s no clown,
Ice the size of olives
Sliced leaves and stems in two.
But that was small
Compared to the latest squall
The schedule is in a whirl
It’s still August
But the swallows have flown
Tell-tale winds have blown
Telegraph cables by my window are just lines now
These birds fly so high they know it all.
They see how the week is bound because our world is round.

Just a little half-mast today
Maybe bereft that they left

Then I look at these pretty, delicate things
They'd fly too if they had wings
And wouldn't you? Wouldn't I?
I sigh
Imagining my world is the sky

Lots of love,

if I could fly @pipp.warner