Bennachie, October

by Mandy Macdonald

cloud washes the Mither Tap
wraps her in her own weather

withered, seed-exploded balsam,
army of feather dusters by the railside

a hawk hangs over the stubble-shaven fields
their rolled gleanings tidied for the sun’s inspection

trees shrug off their summer clothes
gold and green fall and are wind-rustled away

autumn cleans the land