Come October

Some evening when the wildflowers are taking their final bow, all waltz and sway, ask me about the hummingbirds and butterflies, the bee’s tiny sacks swollen with pollen. Ask me how the just-mown grass, cut close to its roots, emits herbal and citrusy notes, with a hint of sweetness. In this season of transition, we can watch as the sky turns a shimmering palette of flamingo, magenta, and marmalade, laced with hints of gold. Fall is here again. Like last year and the year before. When the light itself changes and night comes earlier with each passing day, ask me a thousand tired times, why it’s always near the end that I awaken into presence: my morning coffee with only a sip left, or a suspense novel’s final chapter. Where have I been? Where did the middle go?