Change of climate
I've just moved cross-country,
Great Lakes to Pacific coast,
and now I'm worried.
I worry whether the October air will nip
my cheeks and burn my lungs with coldness
the way it used to, and whether the wind
will trail the smolder of burning
leaves from its ragged edges.
I worry about a lack of apple cider
and pumpkin patches; of the need for wool
sweaters, overalls, and double-layered socks;
of long tramps through crackling leaves
in the woods at the golden hour before dusk.
I'm worried about Halloween.
I worry whether the season will make me alive,
spark something inside me, a match to a bonfire,
to a candle burning in a pumpkin, to an oil drum
holding the dry remains of the summer's garden,
and send embers and ashes drifting up
to the inky canopy of sky that hangs over home.