I’m going to begin, as I often do, with an excerpt from a poem, in this instance from ‘Late Summer’ by Jennifer Grotz (who is American, hence the spelling).
Summer lingers, but it’s about ending. It’s about how things
redden and ripen and burst and come down. It’s when
city workers cut down trees, demolishing
one limb at a time, spilling the crumbs
of twigs and leaves all over the tablecloth street.
Sunglasses! The man exclaims
while beside him blooms a large gray rose of pigeons
huddled round a dropped piece of bread.
Rowena Sommerville, Director