Rich autumnal odor

Of mottled ferns

And loamy earth

Dappled sunlight

Falls upon a sepulcher

Of soft moss on maple roots

Ephemera of bent trees

Printed like epitaphs

On brittle leaves

At the first, we were enemies.

I hated you for all you took from me.

You stole my flowers, my languid afternoons lounging beside the pool, the bite of summer sun on my skin– a heat that warmed me to the corners of my soul. You hid away the sunset behind blankets of mist and gloom. You crushed the ripeness of blackberries in your wicked palm, leaving behind nothing but stains of purply hue: shadows for evil deeds to hide amongst. You encroached upon my blissful ignorance, my late-night car rides with warm wind whipping my hair. The shiver of your touch gripped the breath of song from my lungs, wrenching away my notes of joy, and leaving seeds of crystalline dread instead. A silence. A heaviness. A death and deliverance into darkness.

I mourned for all I had lost, all you had ripped away, and I fell into despair, blown away on the wind like the last of summer’s dandelion wishes.

That’s when I saw it.

That’s when I saw you, cloaked in your regal robes of curdling red– exactly the color of the maple leaves that fluttered softer than a song to the dampness of earth. And I realized, now that the brightness of summer wasn’t straining my eyes, I could really look at you.

You. were. Beautiful.

I felt you steal into my heart, then.

The searing heat of summer was replaced with the slow bloom of a candle flaming to life in the darkness. The flame flickered as I breathed in all of your scent: the sweetness of fermenting fruit underlain with a heavenly rot. You showed me then, that my heart was not for the flowers. My heart was for you, in all of your splendor. You killed the flowers, but you turned the trees to glory. A million shades of warmth and wonder in synchrony with naked branches greeting a sunrise sky. You brought me clouds and raindrops to dance along my skin. You swallowed up all that was summer in a tide of mud puddles and rivers roaring back to life.

When you delivered the day into darkness, you played a light show across the clouds, giving me sunset shades that summer had never once shown me.

You. It was you. Always you.

You gave me night. And I fell into you, curling beneath blankets together and watching the light of a moon so overripe it must certainly burst– but it didn’t. You painted the world in long, moonlit shadows and dead things whispered to me from beneath your cloak. But I was not afraid, because I was with you, and you knew me, even before I loved you. You waited patiently for me to fall out of love with summer, to fold into you, home, at last.

And now that I’ve seen you, I will never love another. For who could offer so much as you? Who could speak to my shadows the way you do? Who could chill me to the bone and heat me in embrace like you? There is none for me but you.

You, October, have stolen my heart, now and forevermore.

It is an awkward thing, watching. Swaying alone on the breeze in a seat for two, waiting. First the one side a-kilter and then the other from her weight, the chains creaking, the wood groaning with uninvited effort.

It is brazen, somewhat evil even how the leaves cackle on the drive, skitter-scattering atop the chalky concrete, their spirals gathering to a swarm prior to sudden and unpredictable lapses. Befitting her mood she cheers the frenzy on from beneath her blanket; silent hurrahs for the old leaves crawling, and the new ones falling; orange ones and red ones both somehow golden, their circles fueling her angst, kickstarting a tepid pulse which weakens more with each sad lapse in the wildish winds.

Gray and stark the day. Windy and woolly the sky, it’s swept clouds mussed as her hair, with no one to care.

And with shameful finality not even a dusk to mark the day, but rather a nightfall like rising water, sinking her, and the leaves, and the wind in chilled darkness until kisses and lovemaking and happiness are pulled forever away under their whirlwinds.

He is gone like the fresh breath of summer. The gnawing grows inside her. And he’ll never come again.

He is gone. Gone like summer.

you're different every year, aren't you.

built of change - it's the way you are.

a bit of me is in love with you;

the slow fall of the trees and

the frostbitten grass scattered

with golden and cherry leaves.

it's beautiful and impermanent.

ghastly and ghostly and everything in between.

and memories -

quilted together with carefully stitched seams.

brush a hand over the panels and remember

all the cold mornings, evening sunshines,

warm afternoons that sparkled like magic.

the soothsayer knows not the day.

only the crinkle of dried leaves,

the soft gasp of rain on pavement,

curling fingers of wind on your cheeks.

fall.

a bit of me is in love with you,

everchanging as you are.

Today’s Fuck the World Day.

Today’s I wish I had a punching bag day.

Today’s if you get in my way I’ll explode, I don’t care who you are or what weapons you’re packing day.

Today’s the thirteenth anniversary of my failed marriage.

A few weeks from today is the fourth anniversary of my dad’s death.

And I have to take care of my four young kids and my elderly mom who has no memory and my work’s picking up and I’m taking over for a retired guy,

And I have an electric turn off notice because I haven’t been able to get gas and electric started at this new house and I’m paying for two houses and four kids and a deadbeat soon to be ex wife and I can’t afford the lawyer anymore and she won’t sign the divorce papers and I don’t know where all this fucking money is gonna come from,

and I’m holding up the world like Atlas, bringing down the temple like Samson.

A few weeks from today is the two year anniversary of the day my wife told me she was gay and wanted a divorce

and she’s still here and I’m still supporting her

like that cockroach, that rat, that scratch you just can’t itch.

Today’s the day I just picked the scab off again.

Today’s the one year anniversary of the last time I tried to kill myself.

Today’s I’m a nuclear missile heading for everything, a powder keg of gun powder and piss and vinegar, a super nova exploding colors into space day.

Today’s I used to love fall and the changing leaves with my favorite orange and yellow colors and hiking and camping in the mountains by a cool crystal lake and the cool air and the smell of fireplaces and pumpkins and apple cider and cinnamon but this shit sucks day.

Today’s I genuinely don’t give a fuck about anything anymore day.

Today’s I’m Doctor Doom, The Master, Thanos, and Darth Vader all rolled into one day.

Today’s seriously, don’t get in my way today day.

Today’s some bitch just stopped in front of me when I was trying to pull out from dropping my kids off at school and she’s just sitting there so I’m staring at her unflinching burning a hole through her head with my laser eyes day.

Today’s I so so so want to explode day.

Todays I’m so crazy my head hurts and my vision’s blurry and maybe I have a tumor I really really hope it’s a tumor because that would explain a lot day.

Today’s how the fuck am I gonna end this poem day.

Today’s is this even a poem at this point I think it’s more of a rant day.

Today’s this day fucking sucks day.

Today’s no really it does day.

Today’s if you smile at me I’ll knock that fucking smile off your face day.

Today’s I want to punch a baby kitten so don’t become that kitten day.

Today’s I really don’t want to become an angry, evil mother fucker but the world is blackening my heart and my soul so fuck you day.

Today’s I really hope they don’t lock me up and throw away the key day.

Today’s piss and vinegar day.

Today’s my god I really don’t know how I’m going to go on like this day.

Love, hate, lust, and longing have been motivating factors as of late. Human relationships are so intricate, woven as quickly as a spider’s web and are oftentimes just as fragile.

So frequently am I caught within the stringy fibers of the webs I (not so) begrudgingly weave.

The wind begins to pick up all around me, ushering me indoors, whispering promises that have already been broken. I tire of these games, uninterested in playing along to the rule book that I have claim to have created.

They say Halloween is a time for fear, but really, I find it quite peaceful.

Dead leaves brush across my path.

I wonder if they are harbingers of change.

This is where I'll leave your note.

The first one I ever received was pinned to my shirt. It was yellow construction paper, cut out into the shape of a school bus. "832" was written on it in one of the eight most important colors that exist in the world, according to Crayola.

You're still one of the 8 most influential people in my world, according to every woman I've loved since last we spoke.

The first note I gave wasn't folded cleverly. I didn't learn how to do that until well into my teen years, when I had a reason to do the cute little tucks and tails. To her credit, she didn't laugh, but the subtle shake of her head was indication enough that the words she would use after reading would be empty attempts at mollification or hollow apology.

It's alright, though. Because later, I found someone worth it.

Until she wasn't.

The note I found at your apartment, it wasn't mine to find. It was an accident, really. I wasn't looking for it, but there it was. It spelled out in clumsy verse, in my best friend's handwriting, words that I knew in my heart but hadn't yet seen with my eyes. You were gone, and he was with you.

Not me.

Until he wasn't.

Oh, I am now fine. I wasn't fine. I didn't think I would ever be, but, well. Time heals, and all that. And wow, it's been a lot of time. A lot of todays between you and me and then.

A problem of mine, though, is that I linger. I still bleed a little when the trees move from green to smokeless flicker-flame.

So this is where I leave the trail, smeared for everyone to see and experience along with me. Pictographs written in clear language with unclear resolutions, red-fading-to-rust, scrawled for pondering and perusing.

I think the issue here is the time of year. The leaves have already turned and the temperatures are beginning to feel a little duller, a little smoother. Hazy days are giving way to lazier days, shorter in duration and sepia around the edges of afternoons. Each morning stumbles in from the dark, shaky and a little weak.

October. Fall.

I tripped, once. Fell. Landed hard, battered and bruised and bitter.

The bruises have faded, I think. The bitterness sometimes slips away into more of a bittersweet.

Which brings me to today.

This is where I'll leave your note.

I'm sorry. I can't say I didn't mean to bring you fear, anxiety, worry. I meant to give you those things. I wanted you to feel those things. I did that to you. I wish I hadn't done that; it was hurtful and hateful and born of spite and resentment and resistance to inevitable change.

I was absolutely withered. Everything good and right and just had been chewed up and what was left in me was envious and angry. I was poisonous and miserable, and I wanted poison and misery visited on you, too. I'd been done to, and I wanted to do. I spoke in anger, I spoke with hatred. Fury was my world, and our worlds were parted.

My emotions ruled me, and I should have done better.

You told me you were afraid, and I was appalled. I was aroused. I was proud and I was ashamed and I was disgusted and I was pleased.

Mostly, though, I was saddened.

I never wanted you to fear me, but you did. You were afraid of me because of me. I should have done better. I should have been better.

I have done better since then. I learned from us. You taught me. You taught me so much, and only now can I see the lessons written those decades ago. The words are the same, but now they convey different meaning, like shadows flickering in different light.

I've channeled the anger. I've funneled the pain, I've processed the emotions, I've done better with others. There are scars, there are aches, but they're stories and allegories and ways to learn and do better. Be better.

I've been better.

I wish you'd see me. I wish we could talk; I wish laughter was our language.

These things can't happen, because there's no bridge to be built. The ashes all floated downstream decades ago. I understand that, and I respect the borders and the boundaries and the barriers. We're worlds apart now, with the light of years between. Me leaving things alone is the best case for you and for me and for us.

I'd like you to forgive me.

I'm pretty sure you've forgotten me.

I know it's best that I stay here on my side of the world, so I'll leave a note here for you. A note for autumn, for October, for a deciduous love that tries to be evergreen when 'what if' wanders in and whispers poison.

In maudlin moments, I wish you could know I want to walk those 500 miles that separate us, just to be the man you once thought I was. When clarity sharpens my focus on the here and the now, though, I realize how lucky I am to not wake up next to you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ6wJqaE6o4

You could've kept your cold breeze. It ruins the sight of the beautiful color on the leaves. The haunted houses that I hate to the core. Where fiends with masks try to make my soul ascend. Though the lights and decorations on houses are quite outstanding. And I love the bright smile on a child's face as they run with their candy, soon to stuff their face. Pumpkin spice latte's drunk by women named Brandy. I took a sip or two and the taste also tickles my fancy. No more shirts and shorts, I have to throw on my sweater, But the comfortable feeling it gives maybe this is better. You ruined my weekends, with all of your sports. From every bar I pass I hear a cheer, I join in of course, pass me a beer. But please hold the snow it's not yet part of the show. And while I hate you October, maybe I love you just a bit more

Look

I think we got off to a bad start

It's really not your fault how awful I've been feeling

Really, it isn't

And I've been blaming you for that, that was my bad

It's just that

You know how great last year was?

You know how great that was for me?

Having him in my life this time last year?

It was so heavenly

HE was so heavenly

He made me love you

He made me love the leaves, and the sky

And sending him pictures of how beautiful you could get

I loved wearing his clothes when you got extra chilly

And then it was like you and I had a little thing to share

Just the two of us

We could talk about how great he was making us

How loving him was making me love you even more

I could whisper how lucky I was to your winds at night

Like girls gossiping at a sleepover

He was like a little bond we shared, something to keep us connected

He was the sap of our birchwood kinship

Because I loved him, and you gave him to me

And I was so grateful to you for that

So look, it's not your fault that he's not around this year

I've been blaming you, hating you for not bringing him back

For making me walk the crunchy leafy streets alone

For having no extra warmth to your chilly autumn air

For taking pictures and having no smiley boy to send them to

For feeling alone

For missing that

But it's not your fault

You didn't do that to me, and I shouldn't have blamed you for it

That was unfair

Because this is probably hard on you too

I lost him, but you lost both of us

I've been sulking a lot lately,

Staying inside and resenting the season I used to hold so dearly

That used to reek of new love, and possibility

Depressed and disillusioned, as many often are with you

That you could be so loving one year

And so vacant the next. So grief-stricken, and mournful

But I'm sorry. Him leaving didn't mean you're out to get me

It doesn't mean you're trying to hurt me, or haunt me

You're just doing what you always do

You're wonderful

You're as wonderful as always

Because even now that I'm alone,

Alone, and stubborn, and vengeful,

You still gift me autumn days

And crisp breezes,

And orange sunsets, and spicy donuts,

And thick sweaters that I don't have to share,

And the smell of pumpkin and leaves,

And bags of apples, and warm hugs and fires,

And you know what?

They may not be mine and his

But now they are mine and yours to share.

I can hold your hand as I walk sunsetted streets,

And whistle with your winds as I crash into leaf piles,

And share the sight of the moon with you

Except you don't need me to send you a picture

You can watch it right there with me

I think you've actually been right with me the whole time

It's good to have you back, my friend

It's good to be back myself

How you've grown! In every part of the globe you are different, and I will not make the curmudgeon mistake of fitting such a figure into one style of garderobe. As a posh stylish month, you wear every weather and color, and are both hot, and cold, with a scent reminiscent of something on the trail...

No, what distinguishes you, October my dear, is the little people you bring into this world. Every month stamps a certain character on its newborn ward. The Octoberian baby is a sweet cherub, dimpled, cinnamony sweet, stubborn streaked, lyrical little cardinal. Down to earth, prolifically creative, a mental sherlock. Fixed in habits with generous understanding of others, opinionatedly amiable, and reclusively outgoing. Just the most delightful hobgoblin imaginable. Truly your offspring are among my favorite favorite great grandchildren!

with Love, your Great Great Great Great Great... did I say Great? Granddaddy,

Gregory Calendar

10.24.2023

The Essence of October challenge @thePearl