Indian Summer

This is Nature's irrepressible
sense of humour, briefly arresting
cold November winds, allowing
a blessed reprieve, recalling
summer's taken-for-granted
gentle breezes, loftily-piled
feather-white clouds against a
pale blue canvass of sky, the
brilliant eye of the sun poking
its scintillating fingers upon the
landscape, warmly, tenderly.

And we, how we so very much
appreciate her humour, bathe
ourselves gratefully in its essence,
happy for the restoration of weather
attuned to mood - or is it the reverse?
Regardless, we bask in the kindness
of this Indian Summer, the calm
before the stormy onslaught of
inevitably-icy winter gales.

Not only we, but the bluejay with its
bell-clear call, the beaver hauling
itself out of its lodge, the squirrels
running amok, searching acorns and
pinecones, white moths circling the
gentle air, the whistling, predatory
hawks, and questioning owls, the
red-capped woodpeckers, all of our
landscape companions indulging in
Nature's seasonal practical joke.