There’s a lesson here, perhaps,
that even the beautiful can be discarded.
Or another lesson, that there’s a time
for everything, or that change is inevitable,
and other dog-eared philosophical scraps
we try and make sense of the world with.
So let’s get back to the here and now:
the poly-tunnels empty, a shoulder-high
slump of bags and plants and then
the unexpected scent as I run past
like the sweet ghost of summer
lingering in the autumn sun.