the tenth month

The Tenth month What is there to say about  about a perfect day, the first of October when the sun is infused with silver A few cumuli look like a bride's belt a sky that has pale blueness   bathed in the mystical haziness of dreams The limitless seeking understanding why oak leaves fall and grass takes on the color auburn and lemon hue  In supple silence, I hear animals getting  ready for a white landscape, the long  rest before a new spring explodes Do not sleep this day be aware, feel the dust free air and nuanced harmony of a moment that will not reappear