the dimming light.
the crushed scent of rosemary lingering on my lined hands.
long shadows chasing children home as they return from school.
dearest october, you think that I would let your scouring of the treetops and browning of the grass leave me bereft of joy. instead you are a month where the sunlight gloriously falls through the spaces in the trees, the night lengthens in sweet ways and the harvest brings a satisfied thump to ones belly.
though we drag in the last scraps from the garden, october means I can once again sleep with windows wide open in hopes of catching the evening call of a cricket or the lightest touch of a breeze. here in this full month of autumn, my body comes alive again after the slumbering heat of summer: the back of my neck no longer pricks with sweat and there are less heat induced complaints when I shoo my boys out of doors.
october is the soft heat that curls in through the windows, brushing against my shoulders, playing with my hair. october is of the most tender golden hour, stretching from noon ’til night; october is the downy wind that sighs across the lakes, holding up our hearts as safe and content as a newborn babe who lays in her mother’s arms.