October Contentment
by MFrostDelaney

The first chill of the season brings the air
that forces blankets out of cedar drawers,
that pulls down storms and puts away the screens,
that checks the oil, that stacks the pile of wood.
The light-weight summer chairs all get brought in.
The A/C and the fans are packed away.
The leaves turn gold and red, a macramé
of firelights, their sparks before they spin
into the browns that fall and make a hood
upon the ground, where pumpkins gather scenes
for postcards from New England—cider, s’mores,
the grey-blue skies that show the trees gone bare.
When work is done to welcome this year’s night,
the harvest-tide and I relax, delight.



 

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