October
in october everything changes / the light is different / the air is different / it’s not september anymore / in september you can still cheat / convince yourself that you will live forever / that the sun will stop in its tracks north of the equator / that the winds will always rush in from the south / and the nights will be filled with tangos and romance and fine ladies with red painted lips and nails to match / but look around today / there is no place to hide today
the breeze is still soft but it has lost its confidence / the leaves / no longer supple green / today they rattle in the passing air / my love still lies outside my window / exposed in the afternoon sun / but now the valleys of her curves are shadowed by her brown prominence / the rays slant in low and yellow and tired / coming from way back last july
i so clearly recall my grandfather standing in our parlor one early october day a long time ago / staring out the window at the yard / he did not see me there in the doorway / but i could tell he was softly sobbing / i asked him what was wrong / he said he was sad to see the coming of the fall / that he had lived too long
Those … moments
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It is, as the Divine Mr Clive Barker described it, The Great Grey Beast February.
But if it is Oct in your head, at least you know the candy is for anyone clever enough to dress up.
Not so, February.
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The last few lines calls to mind a song I can’t quite recall. I think Roy Clark sang it – something about December of our years? Winter of our years?
This prose is thought provoking. Thanks.
@zhnee Thanks for your kind note / September of my Years is a Sammy Cahn song / Sinatra won a Grammy for the album of the same name / but the lines in the prose were inspired by my grandfather / it’s so clearly etched in my memory…
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And it is a lovely memory. I didn’t mean to take away from your writing by relating it to something else. You describe October most excellently.
@zhnee No stress zhnee / just happy you enjoyed it!
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Lovely words. ~A~
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