October is a riot,

Chaotic colour,

Distracting ambers,

Alluring skies.

October yearns to be

Delighted in,

A celebration,

Nature’s last hoorah!

“Come revel in me!” it beckons out the window.

“Play and frolic,

toss and pile,

laugh and ramble!”

 

Then comes the grey.

Warm and cool,

They have their differences

And usually it just ends

With a cold shoulder,

Some low-browed clouds,

And then the grey

Silence.

 

November is quiet.

Muting,

Fading,

Calming.

She’s gentle,

Unassuming,

Slipping in soft,

Carrying

The weight of all the year

Ready to let it go

Slow.

She’s graying round the temples,

A mist about her eyes.

You sense the need

To center,

On your knees,

And then rest

Upon your haunches

just to watch

her come.

She’s wise about a lot of things,

Like how and when to let go,

And do it well,

And how to accept

The unexpected.

 

 

So we do.

Our feet get wet,

Our fingers numb,

As we slip in alongside,

Gently,

With the grey.