Hammerwood Forest


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

Note: My uncle was a keen huntsman.

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  1. 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.

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