Strawberries in November

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.