Hammerwood
Autumn is pouring rust on trees,
seasonable fashion and colours
dripping gloss over leaves.
. . . . . . . A hush, he listens.
Echoes of woodpeckers playing
a percussionist’s riff,
as chilled air hangs heavy and thick.
. . . . . . He aims, he fires.
Misty mellow tones of autumn
twist into lonely tunes in this place.
This is Hammerwood Forest, where
. . . . . . fallow deer chase the wind.
. .
. .
. .
. .
Written for Margo’s Tuesday Tryout: It’s The Truth Prompt
http://margoroby.wordpress.com/2012/09/18/its-the-truth-tuesday-tryouts/
Note: My uncle was a keen huntsman.
Great name for the forest. I could swear I ran across it recently while looking something up, Now, if I can remember the something.
I like the structure with the three short lines offset, so they can be read alone, almost as a haiku.
Hammerwood is a real place between the counties of Kent and Sussex. It’s very near where I live, and very close to Ashdown Forest, which is even closer. Pooh sticks and all that.