All night the the wind and rain
clawed at the scored slopes of the mountain

Photo Climbing Snowdon by Kris Thirty6Red

Sunday market
a fountain of colour
mahonia flowers

hooked on
his intoxicating charm-
crescent moon

poor fellow,
crucified...the wind moans
in a withered field

dust unsettles --
the storm creaks
my knuckles

autumn, come and gone
rich russet lives turn brown

Autumn gust
still leaves
scatter again

the dog won't come in
out of the misting rain
pink cyclamen flowers

your eyes see
only far horizon
November and love ends