This year, I have come staggering and stumbling into October.
Usually, I am bursting with joy, swirling into this rich, magical time that I adore.
But there’s been the shocking, sudden death of a beloved friend, eight years younger than me… several work disappointments that I was not expecting… Hard and harder world news reports every day…
October arrives, just the same.
Regardless of my own struggles, or the busy, dark machinations of humanity, here she is.
There is a portentous hickory branch hanging over the driveway that overnight went from generic green to brilliant chartreuse. Hails of acorns as big as a lumberjack’s thumb tip bomb our house, startling the cats and leaving our cars dimpled and haggard.
I am finally able to catch my breath, look up, and see.
The hummingbirds have gone. The late afternoon sunlight slants low across the polished golden oak desktop my father built many years ago, dazzling me in that once-a-year only way. Now damp winds call to me, to wander through the rumpus of crackling leaves.
The Wheel turns, life rolls on. I will not miss it.
Blessed, blessed be.
The Love of October
by W. S. Merwin
A child looking at ruins grows younger
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.