Lost in Their Own Time

They left behind the colourful stalls of the Saturday market.

Air musty from the drums of local cheeses

Tangy high notes of fruit and vegetable

That gave way to ‘Bric a Brac’ and change from a Fiver

The little park was busy with children and chain swings

Relentless search for conkers, hidden beneath damp leaves

Dusted white by late Septembers first frost.

The children's chilly chatter spiralled upward like balloons

Joyously scattering into the mist

They walked through a tumble down of leaves

Delighting in the riverside’s wooded smell of sweet summer past

Lost in their own time, beneath the endless shed of falling leaves

Afternoon descended into a swirling haze

As the nebulous depth of a starless night awaited