Where are you, fall? Outside, with the space of time, a place of catching perception. Here I am, looking out as an act of taking in.
Oh October, here at the height of your crashing reign, you brandish your air. Strange to say, it’s not the change in temperature, but the increased shine of your breeze that announces you the loudest. I am ready for the clash of your fool’s steel!
And, oh, autumn country fairs, whose prizes are only prizes there! Your harvest ribbons, the nametags on branches of emptying conventions. The dealing done, the shaking hands hurrying off the rest of your colorful signatures. What rides to screaming destinations! And yet here (oh fairs!), we are so willing to clamor over what tomorrow will be painted over. Prospecting for goldfish on the banks of an aquarium, how often do we ask ourselves: “Do I really know how to care for even this smallest potential catch?”
Anyways, Fall, let me be clear in what I am gathering the nerve to ask: bring me out of myself - what is ripe should now be dropped! And more - may I not overrule the wind! What it takes from me is not to be retrieved except through itself, a slow growth that maturity has prepared for something apparently unconnected, except with intangible meaning.
Bundling up and returning inward, knowing I am now ripe for the falling but confident I am just palatable enough to be picked at the edge of another round of renewed descent.