In Late October... Poem by DM W

In late October,
birds still sing sweetly, despite
the fading of light.
They do so naturally
and not on command.
Unlike us they're not riddled
with all the ragged
symptoms of bitter doubting.
In late October,
rain sometimes brings blessings that
are unexpected,
and the wind whispers eerie
meanings that we have
long forgotten, because we
are lost in Time's mists
and fixed to treadmills of days.
In late October,
the harvesting of apples
brings colour and warmth
to cold turnings of the year.
In late October,
I'm struck by subtle beauty,
that doesn't seek to
crassly advertise itself,
but stirs the senses,
like a rich, textured painting.
In late October,
lie scatterings of brown and
gold- tinted displays
that hint at rites and symbols.
In late October,
blood- red leaves are brimming with
solemn parables,
that Modernity attempts
to hide. O Nature
abounds with wisdom, if we
take care to listen
and perceive, unfettered by
the endless din of
distraction! When we wander
along untrodden
pathways towards verdant fields
and ancient oak trees,
we can absorb the silence
that was once gifted
to those who came before us.
In late October,
the bonfires begin and strange
scents caress the air.
It's a time to remember
all that's passed away
into the realm of shadows.
And if I listen
carefully in a dream- like
glade, I can still hear
echoes of loved ones voices,
although they have moved
on from this world of sorrows.
In late October,
mature Love unfolds like
soft, unhurried prayers.
Summertime's wild flings dissolve
in sanctuaries
of your true, inner goodness.
In late October,
a saint- like communion
that connects Nature's
wild, disparate elements,
stifles the dreaded
screaming of the witching hour.
In late October,
when the sun dies suddenly
on fateful evenings,
I am often reminded
starkly of my own
mortality, yet I can
sense my little part
within the great scheme of things.