Yeah, I go all French when I’m happy, apparently. (Which means those pesky French teachers were right? I do secretly love the language? It’s no secret; I could listen to francais all day long. But verb conjugation and root canal share plenty of similarities.) Anyway…
It’s the first day of fall! And it’ll be 90 degrees! The weather, if anything, is consistently inconsistent. Nevertheless, despite it feeling like summer on the first day of fall, it’s official!
Here’s a poem from the canon about autumn. I wrote it a few years ago. One of my personal favorites, which is a stretch, being that I wrote it and can see all the ways it could be improved. But it reminds me, not only of my favorite season, but of someone from my past that likes to pop up in my mind here and there. And the memories are nice.
This was our favorite time of year.
We waited for it eagerly;
we quietly laughed at those who swallowed the
warm sunshine and the long, hot days,
wanting just a quick blast of crisp, cold air
to silence them.
But our time came soon enough.
We drank the season in until we couldn’t
bear it anymore, which was not usual,
because we always bore it, you and I, traipsing
outside whenever we had the chance.
(which was all the time)
But those days are gone.
The autumn moon is mine and mine alone to
enjoy; you went to a place where
the dreaded summer is a constant, and perhaps
to your liking. Who knows?
For a time, I was set on hating this season because of your
unfair absence, as if blaming nature was a good
way of blaming you.
Whatever happened, whatever happens, my chances to
run outside and hear my footsteps reverberating upon
burgundy and brown and golden ground will never
be wasted, not for you or for anyone.
Though this time leaves as quickly as it enters,
unlike my brief time with you,
it means something.
So this is goodbye.