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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Pleasantries of passivity before the pinch of shrill cold ripples over the landscape in the suburbs of Buffalo— before its trees crispin and leaves twirl about— giggling like school girls, rippling in the claustrophobic dark. My existence, contingent on three months: conceived in January - a honeymoon baby, born in October, yet September is pivotal to my existence as two sets of twins were born, one year and a few miles apart. September is neither hot nor cold in the passing of Spring - I must state that this intermediary stage is not prosaic - its conjoined arm in arm seasons for lovers, families, bundles of joy, apple of the eyes. Climbing of trees, climatic offspring of seedlings, sweet and sour opposites attract the saplings and their mentors — momentous happenings that thrill through muscle memories of September. Outdoors to explore as air conditioners cool off, as central heating waits in line, as school dances erupt, and festivals bring their baskets of fruit for those jiggling pocketfuls of change. Exchange of hopefulness, the eye of the storm with its zephyr zealousness— fertile ground of safety on simmer. One honeymoon baby drifted South toward peaches, pecans and the annual Yellow Daisy Festival. Roots of September— my smile wide, in dungarees, seasonal daring, my squeeze, and succulent sweetheart. Hello September, a selfie-group hug, a gregarious greeting. Slipping from Summer, swaddling into such colder winds. 9/18/2021
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