Season of wasps and creepies and crawlies
Spiders like soup plates and moths in the light
Sneaking the fire on when no one is looking
Hotties or blanket to get through the night.
Searching for socks and hunting for cardies
Chutneys and jams and cooking of soups.
Crisp sunny morning when all mist has lifted
But unwelcome Christms card catalogues now on the doormat
Summer is gone, is it Hallowe'en yet?
I’m horrified at Steve Witkoff’s remark


I didn't mean that rudely! (fat fingers)



