We've had just about enough of you:
You, the winter who l-i-n-g-e-r-s:
Oh sure, you're pretty and all that:
With your high contrast:
And your bluetime spells:
And your uncanny ability to define space:
But maybe you could step aside and give someone else a chance for a little minute:
You know, give these sweets their turn to shine in the sun:
'Cause you know, my door is wide open to spring:
In you, this month of chilly mornings
I hope to find the calm that was not my September,
The soft warmth of my favorite sweaters,
The come-home smell of our spiced pumpkin candle,
And the quiet glow of geese in flight at sunset.
In you, this time of intense beauty,
As leaves turn gold and trees become silhouetted stems,
I hope to rejoice in your watercolor skies,
The loamy smells of summer's decay,
The acrid scent of burning leaves,
The crunchy sweetness of apple crisp,
And the steamy tint of ginger peach tea.
In you, October, I am pensive
As I wait for a quieter season.
There are books to be read, words to be written,
And music to be played.
In you, October, I feel a sense of sadness
As my side of the world tilts palpably towards winter,
Even though I know that I will find beauty
In its chill.
But before then, October,
May you pass slowly and linger long
Alowing me to savor your offerings
Gently,
Kindly,
October.
Bridge, you are beautiful.
I know not where you lead, nor from whence you come
But I have the sense that you could take me places.
Or at the very least, that you could connect me from here to there
With very little effort whatsoever.
I detect that, perhaps, in the confidence of your wood, in its gentle slope and rise,
Its weathered nature a tribute to your strength.
You look not trod upon, though I'm sure you could tell many a story.
Or perhaps I glean this knowledge from your rails. They look resolute, and precise.
Aesthetic protectors from trips, falls, and slips
and other misguided errors in judgment.
And while the beauty on the other side is unmistakable
And I am tempted to say that it is that very beauty that I seek
I have a hunch that the real grace lies in what cannot be seen
In the story that has led me to your beginning
Which is no doubt someone else's amazing end
Which connects us from one to the other
Two points, one line like a circle
From me to you
And you to me
On a bridge from here to there.
