Untitled #03

the tenth month has a keen ability to uncover hope in dread;

it makes death splendorous in the breath of brittle air

that beckons the leaves to dance their grand finales

into colorful piles to be crushed in a crunch underfoot,

or burned; oh, the glory! of all that is, for death gives us life.

october invites us into the incarnation and allows us to be

human—creative, variable, made in the image of god, and full of tears and laughter;

this is a time of reclamation, of belovedness, of falling in love again,

of accepting grace, of broken bits of poetry, and of sabbath.

this is my favorite season for still moments

filled by deep sighs bursting with memory,

as if my whole history took place in octobers:

scarves smell like scotland, where early morning cups of coffee

became setting-sun ciders became bedtime whiskeys,

and we are always becoming.