October with her day born mist caresses along the length of my nose like a
finger wrapped in wet silk. Vapour stifles sounds across the still water till I
feel I am almost alone. A lone wandering spirit now trapped in a white cocoon
of her enveloping inquiry. She has come to earth to wreath and covets my
spirit. She cannot succeed, but in her embrace I feel the change of days laid bare
by the new month. It is here now on the cusp of winter that the chill air takes
away any hope of sunlit days with its watery, sensual touches. I breathe her, taste
her and smell the decaying foliage she casts to the ground. She is brutal and
yet benevolent and has the majesty of a tyrant touched by a brief pity for the
world. So she allows it one last breath of chance to prepare for the tightening
grip of her hold upon all living things. The usurped green crown of summer she now
wears but in each day of this month it becomes the white-golden diadem to pass
to November.
