Went mid-morning walking today
And the sun shone so warm and bright
Above an infinitely blue sky
That it would have been possible
To miss the south-wind carrying
A chilling breeze, a portent of
The things that are to come.
October, mostly my favorite time,
And not merely because of Halloween,
Adam James' favorite holiday, and all
Those wonderful memories of Adam and Peter
Wearing grim reaper costumes
And the delightfully silly smiles
They wore too, smiles
That come so naturally to vaguely aware boys.
Nor because of the tree leaves transforming
Into their true colors, so grandly,
So vividly, so majestically, and then
So suddenly gone, save for the odd withered one or two
That hang on so valiantly (or so habitually)
Until the gusty winds of March
Finally persuade them to leave that to which they clung,
As attached as I am to this house,
To this neighborhood,
And to my memories.
October holds the promise of the greatest grandness
Of the trees; so grand that thoughts of winter's
Harshness are pushed somewhere deep into the recesses
Wherein dwell the hopes and dreams of a silly boy
Who once loved in a silly, hopeless, helpless way,
That comes so naturally to the vaguely aware.
Well, come, October, my old friend.
Welcome, October, my old dream.
Well, come, October, my desperate beginning.
welcome, October, my bitter end.
