I am at my most childlike
at the onset of autumn.
The first crisp morning brings goosebumps
caused not by cold air
but by anticipation.
I hunt through cupboards for jumpers, boots and scarves - 
packed away hurriedly in the search for flip-flops and sandals
just a few months ago - 
but now drawn out and greeted again
as old friends.
The air smells of bonfires.
Rain, when it comes, is not scorned as in the heat of summer,
but brings puddled pavements that reflect
the glow of headlights and streetlamps
as the evenings draw in.
I long for it all - 
the closing of curtains against dusk,
the lighting of a log fire,
the crunch beneath my feet of leaves
and conker cases as I stroll
through the park.
I am not my years
as the blazing shades of autumn
spread like wild fires
through my soul.