October is absolutely my favorite month of the year.
Breathless anticipation fills the dawn
On first emerging from my deepest sleep,
A sense of wonder that will soon be gone,
A fleeting pleasure never meant to keep.
What is the beauty I must see today?
Must know before it quickly slips away?
Ah, yes. My spirit soars! It is October.
The patio is cold to my bare feet
And moving wind chimes make their tinkling sound
As squirrels appear and hastily retreat
Through falling leaves of red orange green yellow brown.
I’ll breathe the crisp cool air before it goes
Pushed onward by the winter’s chilling snows,
Then wait the seasons through. For next October.
© Dorothy Hatfield 2004