It's October, and the leaves are turning gold.
Mornings are chill and spiced with pine
Too early for gloves, hands seek pockets for shelter.
Window sills are adorned in marigolds and pumpkins.
A yard a few houses down is covered in painted tombstones
     ("I told you I was sick.")
It's time to hang the bat wind chimes.

I feel an urgency of nesting, preparing for winter:
Pack the summer dresses, find the flannel sheets.
Yet I still try to make time to pause,
Sit outside with my cinnamon tea for a while,
Breathing in the warm fragrance,
Watching the season change.
It's October, and the leaves are turning gold.

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QotD

Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all.
-- Stanley Horowitz