October approaches. Crispness
creeping into air,
leaves rustling with color
pressing rusty hand prints into
sidewalks.
Time for socks and sweaters,
pipes and patched scarves.
Time to bring together
warming lover's hands
on long walks under fading
evening skies.
October smells
of freshly sharpened pencils,
sticks of cinnamon,
distant campfires and
pine needles fallen.
Children grow tall
in October,
their minds and legs
stretching out
before my eyes.
I blink and they are changed.
Anticipation spills over.
Unexpected beauty of a new morning
thrills me with pleasant
surprise.
I should never want to know
a world without
Octobers.
1 comment:
i like "rusty handprints."
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