Embers

by Dianna McKinnon Henning

From my bath
I step into the chilly air.
Droplets cascade
down my legs,
my towel absorbing them.

I think of May,
how everything
greens to blossom,
then burnishes

by mid-October
to papery lanterns,
husks of flowers,

everything becoming

memory’s incandescence.

October

by Robert Frost

The song is part of Alva Henderson’s A Seasonal Songbook.

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

https://songofamerica.net/song/october/

When I Was Asked How I Could Leave Vermont in the Middle of October

by Grace Paley

I did not want to be dependent on autumn
I wanted to miss it for oncedrop into
another latitude where it wasn’t so
well knownI wanted to show that beauty
can be held in the breath just as we breathe
grief and betrayalthey don’t always
have to be happening in the living minute

Lookthere it is nowour own golden
wine-colored world-famous Vermont fallgreen
as summer to begin with and then the sunny
morning draws mist out of the cold night river
the maples are sweetenedthere’s a certain
skipped beata scaldingas you live that
loyal countrysideablazetrembling
toward its long winternobody should have
to bear all that death-determined beauty
every single yearthis aging body knows
it can’t be borne

Fall

by Aileen Fisher

The last of October
We lock the garden gate.
“The flowers alive all withered
That used to stand straight.
The last of October
We put the swings away
And the porch looks deserted
Where we like to play.
The last of October
The birds have all flown,
The screens are in the attic,
The sand pile’s all gone;
Everything is put away
Before it starts to snow—
I wonder if the ladybugs
Have any place to go.

October

by Maurice Sendak

In October
I’ll be host
to witches, goblins,
and a ghost.
I’ll serve them
chicken soup
on toast.
Whoopy once
whoopy twice
whoopy chicken soup
with rice.

Inktober

Happy Inktober!

For more inspiration… a beautiful exhibition:
Expressive Ink: Paintings by Yang Yanping and Zeng Shanqing

OCTOBER GOES

by Virna Sheard

The Ballad of the Quest, Carry On!

October goes, and its colors all pass:
At dawn there’s a silver film on the grass,
And the reeds are shining as pipes of glass,
But yesterweek where the cloud waves rolled
Down a wind-swept sky that was grey, and cold,
Sailed the hunter’s moon,—a galleon of gold!
And now in the very depth of the night
It is just a little flame, blown and white,
Or a broken-winged moth on a weary flight.
But the steadfast trees at the forest rim,
And the pines in places scented and dim,
Still wait for one hunter, and watch for him.
And the wind in the branches whispers, “Why?”
And the yellow leaves that go rustling by,
Say only, “Remember,” and sigh,—and sigh.

A LEAF

By Aileen Fisher

If I were a leaf
(but I wouldn’t be)
I’d have to be tied
to a tree, tree, tree.

I couldn’t walk off
(or skip or run)
and my nose would get burned
by the sun, sun, sun.

In summer I’d roast,
(in winter I’d freeze)
and all through October
I’d sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.

June, too soon

June, too soon
July, standby
August, look out!
September, remember
October, all over!