in amongst the leaves of burnished gold she hides, shy, her words a soft sigh, an icy breeze;
a riddle made of early darkness, filigreed with stars.
she wanders the forgotten copper copse in the sun's dying light, wrapped in tattered woodsmoke, trailed by cold october dreams.
behind a mask of coarse black feathers she smiles,
the light of an ancient bonefire flickering eternally in her haunted eyes;
the Lady of the autumn wood.