I look around at your grandeur and suddenly feel underdressed. Your colors dazzle; regal reds, golden golds, and pumpkin orange punctuate the world in preparation for Thanksgiving.
October, you are like an old friend I love spending time with; one with whom I can share my deepest secrets. How I cherish our strolls through the woods and crunching leaves underfoot! It makes me want to dilly dally a little longer and take the long way home. I want you to know that I’m glad you’re here.
When the evening falls, we can light candles and sit by a fire as it chases the chill from the air. Singing kumbaya would be a little weird, but cinnamon apple tea helps soothe the wrinkles of the day.
Just as I begin to bask in your beauty and accept the fact that your cousin, Summer, has moved on, you pretend to be Winter teasing me with howling winds and bouts of snow. It’s as if you were my younger brother playing a practical joke. I can practically hear your sinister laugh as you watch me shiver from around the corner.
And like my younger brother — sporting a mischievous smile while begging to climb back into my good graces, you offer a sparkling warm sky. My heart, for some reason, finds you irresistible and I accept you back into by arms.
I do have a question, though. I don’t wish to steal any of your joy or hurt your feelings by making such an inquiry. But is your hallmark holiday of Halloween really necessary? Do you realize those goblins and ghouls simply look at it as a candy grab? Couldn’t we just celebrate You Matter to Me Day and National Chocolate Day instead?
Before I’m ready for it, the birch tree looks like a skeleton, golden soybeans are turning brown, and the cornfields are harvested. October, I feel just when we’ve begun to know each other, you ghost me. It’s a little spooky.
It Happened Again
Mary Rita Schilke Sill © 2000
It happened again …
the summer left
without so much as a goodbye.
the leaves are golden
and the air cold enough
to make hands burrow into pockets.
and stoic expressions –
wake sleepy-tousled heads
before dreams are finished.
It happened again …
the season changed
without even asking permission.
Long, lazy, sunny days
short and busy and cloudy.
No more sandcastles
and Cinderella romances;
only Frosty snowmen with button-eyes.
It’s a good thing
I can hear the fire crackle.