CONSTITUTIONAL

While Scots in their millions take their constitution into their own hands (perhaps) I take mine into mine.

Mid September and the air wraps me warm, like a scarf.

Long tailed tits are busy zipping about, almost as though it were a second spring. Likewise goldfinches. I speculate on their purpose.

In the north wood two buzzards cry to each other their soulful song from the top of the tall Ashes. Cry, reply. Cry, reply.

A fat sycamore leaf falls. Brownish yellow, though the predominant foliage colour is still green. There are still butterflies, falling like leaves, except upwards. Reds, browns. greys, the occasional white.

I pace with controlled breathing. Four in, four out. Almost synchronized with the buzzards' calls. And when I can no longer do four in, four out, after slowing to preserve this rhythm, then three in, three out and I speed to a stronger heartbeat, feeling its benefit in my whole body, knowing I will breathe better, eat better, think better, sleep better.