At this time of year, all round the valley, everyone is busy pruning trees and vines and making the most of the dry weather for bonfires. The clouds, mist and smoke all blend and it’s impossible to tell which it is hanging in the still air.
Bonfire after pruning;
at nightfall, the green wood
is still singing
Autumn breathes grey mist across the mountain;
he stamps in puddles, then laughs
with sudden sunshine.
“September on the doorstep” – not yet a poem, but maybe it’ll grown up to be one when it’s older.
Vacuum cleaners are great, but there’s nothing quite like taking your aggression out on a dusty carpet hung on the line! 
I become more and more dependent on my glasses, but even when I am wearing them, letters dance on the page – and they do so even more when the text is on the screen.
The following sprang from a misreading of a perfectly normal expression:
Phrases of the moon
A single quotation mark
opens the discourse, which swells
to a full-mouthed ‘O’, then fades;
a silver comma follows, and then
silence.
Looking for something summery to post for San Juan, I found this:
sunny verandah
a scattering
of kittens and kibble
The photo appears to have been taken on June 24th, two years ago. The blog post for that day is a proper Midsummer Night poem: noche de san juan.
don't confuse the narrator 