OCTOBER
Here it is October. The leaves know. They rustle
with an extra vigor, trying to make the most of the
time they have left.
Every sound is different, somehow; wisps of all
Octobers past are in the air, bringing back not
memories really, just feelings.
When October comes, I want to savor it.
But it is one of those busy months. I try to look
ahead for a day I will be free to just enjoy. By
the time it comes October will be gone and the last
warm days will have faded into November.
It makes me sad.
October, I love you. Don't go yet.
~Eileen Giberson, 1976
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