October Changes

Waking this morning, I felt
that all my nerves
were dangling,
quivering
like the last leaves
of some ancient autumnal oak,
awaiting the quick
sharp
merciful
breath of a north wind.

Later this morning, I felt
that all my senses
were growing
pulsing
like the first buds
of some young and vernal oak,
quickening in the warm
sweet
fresh
winds of spring.

Extrapolating this afternoon,
good humour recovered,
chuckling,
chortling,
at my germinating metaphor
on the oak of life:
my brain an acorn green,
small,
fragile,
but still to grow.