I thought you might like to read this wonderful poem by one of our parishioners:


In this damp corner, where
Nasturtiums star the hedge
And unseen cobwebs stretch,
Autumn’s already here;
While on the silver birch
The catkins’ shrivelled rust
Falls at the slightest touch.
I crumble one to dust
To hold the winter back
Awhile; although I know
For each grey hair you pluck
A hundred white ones grow.

Sally Wheeler

(photo: Joseph Stuetler, some rights reserved)