Hot soup in a cup,

almost too hot to hold.

With fresh buttered bread,

or toast coloured gold.

The rain patters down

but I’m snug as can be,

wrapped in a blanket

and watching TV.

My dog cuddles close

and my cat is asleep.

I’m cosy and warm

all winter so deep.

Like an ancient herald’s call
Rustling leaves in autumn fall.
Though they whisper, never shout,
Yet their message leaves no doubt:
“Summer’s heat is on the wane,
Winter’s on the way again!”

A Victorian subject
returns to our schools.
Exams will be written –
you know that’s the rule.

Students will start to
go out “in the field”,
like Dame Jane Goodall
whose studies revealed
so much about chimpanzees
in the wild.  Let’s
get back to nature
with every child!

Those woodlands hold therapy,
beauty, fragility.
Discover your love for
our world’s Natural History.

Celebrating the return of Natural History in school education.
https://teach.ocr.org.uk/naturalhistory

Run out of paper?
Never fear!
There are plenty of leaves
now autumn's here!

Paint a face today,
what a joke,
on a leaf from an elm,
maple or oak.

What leaf will you paint?
Go in search
of a leaf from a beech
or silver birch.

Want to paint leaves?
Never fuss!
Plenty of trees are
deciduous!

Hello, my friends. Are we sitting comfortably, 
nice and comfortably, after all that blowing
out in the forest? It’s good to see you: oak,
maple, elm, larch, sycamore, beech –
bright in your autumn colours  . . . And 
there’s room on the carpet for all of us.


It’ll be good to share our stories.   We can tell 
those humans how we like to live and breathe
on our beautiful planet, just like them --
drink lots of water and get food from the soil too,
talk to the birds and other creatures -- just like humans . . .
indeed. . . Bring on the stories, the music – Hooray  . . .




Katherine Gallagher

I started the windy weather,

blowing my sister’s hair

with all my might.

But SHE started the rains,

when she cried and cried,

storming off in a fright.

I was the radiant sun,

shining, smiling bright;

inviting my sister to come back in

and dine.

And then I was a tree, a pond,

a plant, a stone, a scrap of thing –

And then, like a pretty bird,

she left me there,

with my imaginings,

tingling …