See previous Novembers for other poems and pictures. Here is one I love. Gutted that it never wins prizes.

NOVEMBER LIGHT

November light comes sideways,
Licking the trunks of trees,
Polishing the autumn stillness
Brightly, under chill-out skies.

Colour has made an exit:
No flowers, no fruit, no green.
Like a second-rate Midas,
November silvers the scene.

The gentle grey of sycamore,
The shining grey of birch:
Sidelight shows us the details,
Etched with a finger-tip touch.

November has swept the clutter
And opened the widening sky.
The sun, low-slung on the horizon,
Melting tangerine, splats the eye.