Nothing to Rely on but October

Crisp wood in the shed like a story snipped
from July secrets retold in tall columns
seasoned logs waiting for slow death
no sap or water, a simple bit of fragrance
cedar or aspen, or loss, for kindling

Left to weather the elements alone
no more refined than any other girl
dreaming from a window waiting for rain
to drum up the fading perfume
of fallen leaves and pulled pumpkins.
There is, perhaps, no other truth.

Poignancy and comfort rest
in fall’s cooling sleep
another storm spills its load
feathered quilts hugged out of dusty boxes
ash pans line the drive
squirrels chase crazy acorns
determined like the pushing wind
seeking spots for burying
bushy tails twitch
October mornings

Autumn’s sting is so pretty
hardly feel the bite, or notice
wilting blossoms, birds taking flight
I must find that sweater, the one
with a hole in the elbow, hidden
after the funeral, that sprinkling of ashes
un-retrieved packages, ink faded
behind the empty porch swing

October lingers
orange and amber procrastinate
November sits in the wings
its sting sits on an icy tongue.
Hats off to all souls day
life closes quietly.

via Daily Prompt: Orange

Orange

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