A child looking at ruins grows younger

but cold

and wants to wake to a new name
I have been younger in October
than in all the months of spring
walnut and may leaves the color
of shoulders at the end of summer
a month that has been to the mountain
and become light there
the long grass lies pointing uphill
even in death for a reason
that none of us knows
and the wren laughs in the early shade now
come again shining glance in your good time
naked air late morning
my love is for lightness
of touch foot feather
the day is yet one more yellow leaf
and without turning I kiss the light
by an old well on the last of the month
gathering wild rose hips
in the sun.


–   W. S. Merwin,  The Love of October


October.
Football games.  Cross-country.  Running on leaf covered trails.
Chili in a cast iron pot.  Cornbread.  Pumpkin harvest beer.
Sweaters.  Boots.  Warm, wooly socks.
Campfires.  Marshmallows.  Glowing orange embers.
Jack-o-lanterns and black cats.
Fresh air and settling in.

I have long loved October.
My parents were married in October.
I met Rob in October.
Harper Lee was born in October.

Good things happen in October.



Tonight, as I rest at my desk, hot tea in hand, I think over my weekend.

  Racing through leaves and a crowd of runners at the Autumn Leaves Festival in Mt. Airy.

Falling asleep in the middle of an afternoon, Annie Dillard book on my chest.

Running, sweaty and breathless, through a corn maze, searching for treasure and finding plastic spider earrings.

The search for the perfect pumpkin.



Hayrides.
Pot of beans on the stove.
Carving the perfect jack-o-lantern.
Sleeping fort in the living room.
Sound of rain on the roof.



Youth is like spring, an over-praised season more remarkable for biting winds than genial breezes.  

Autumn is the mellower season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits.

–   Samuel Butler



Glow on, my beautiful October.


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