When October goes the snow appears. Or so it seems. The transition of a simple moment, one minute it is Indian Summer and the next it is New England dropping leaves and acorns and the skies turning a darker shade of grey and the wind and cold are coming over the lake with a vengeance.
Nonetheless, October remains one of my very favorite months. I love how it comes in radiant in color and brilliant in shades of of yellow and reds and russets. I love the smell of the fallen pine needles and I am reminded that life is a cycle and a very short one at that. If we are given one chance, how lucky we are to have had consciousness, and if we are given a second chance how special we must feel for not having lost it–yet.
October is about aging it is about having all the energy of June just older and wiser and a bit more crunchy.
October is a lesson a preparation for the eventual final winter that will one day arrive in the night and be the thief it has always been portrayed to be. October is alive, but it echoes with a call from the wilderness that is unmistakable.
In the short amount of time that I am here, I am glad when October reminds me to appreciate the vestiges of summer’s last hours and summer’s last flowers.