I remember the year
1947: we walked across the beach
Your face was so perfect and pale
Your eyes so big and brown
Don’t you remember?
I remember.
I lifted the hem of your dress
To help you step up
To the whitewashed planks of the boardwalk.
I caught a glimpse of your ankle
My heart raced and my mind skipped to
A wedding
As I pulled you up
Your weight was the most real thing I had ever felt.

As the dawn lit up the primordial sky,
the rising sun, all hot and red.
It turns the sea to steam and vapors,
and Gdog turns his shaggy head.

Adjustments here and there, I guess,
it's almost ready now,
I'm tired of working, I think I'll rest,
right after I finish this cow.

Let's see, it needs to be portable,
I guess I'll give it feet,
self-sustained on grass and water,
Hey, that's pretty neat!

Sometimes she sat there next to me far away.
I imagined she could have been talking with the stars
and looking at all the colors she could taste there.

Or far away of a different kind; ancient Samarkand maybe.
I had no idea where she might go. I would always be patient though,
and wait for her return.

We would often speak about her journeys
looking out our front window at a garden of roses,
with thorns we were never afraid of.

High the mark we strive for
driven by desire.
Palsied by the nuance
of the holy fire.

Driven to our knees
while trying to aspire.
The love there taken yesterday
we try to reacquire.

Never do we wander
nor languish in the mire.
Visions of tommorow
we clutch and then devour.

Our beds were never burning
nature was required.
Your voice I hear returning,
your presence was inspired!

Falling into Autumn leaves
make love as we perspire!
Given to our passion
at length we retire.

There was no voice, no sudden sound,
no declaration to astound
the turning leaves, the shadows cast
the waning daylight, once held fast.

Now Autumn rose in cooling air,
its gentleness, an answered prayer.
The summer simply bowed and turned,
its glory fading, its time adjourned,

while wistful memories soon surrender
to northern winds of late September

the meadow burned with flowers early fall
where black eyed suzys waved to no one there
a patch of goldenrod had formed a wall
and thistles with their bristles combed the air

the midday sun was lazed on drying clover
tumbling pairs of butterflies emerged
my thoughts of you were churning, turning over
emotions born of adolescence surged

the meadow smelled of nature in that bliss
the sound of insect narratives were spun
and there, where all these eyes could see us kiss
we seized the breeze where wildness had run

Bob fought ocular cancer
for the second time in his life.
Treatments were harrowing,
but he went diligently until
the glorious day he could
ring the bell at the end.
The applause of the staff was
a nice touch, but the best
was his triumphant
homecoming.

But first etymological climatological meteorological esoterica from our sponsor:

The word autumn (/ˈɔːtəm/) is derived from Latin autumnus, archaic auctumnus, possibly from the ancient Etruscan root autu-and has within it connotations of the passing of the year. Alternative etymologies include Proto-Indo-European *h₃ewǵ- ("cold") or *h₂sows- ("dry").

Like wind-blown fallen leaves
I land at your feet.
The color of fading rust
of the dying day
waiting to be born anew tomorrow.
Yours is the face I see
when I first awaken,
it has been this way for many a year
and it is my hope for many more.
you are the breath of my life
residing forever within,
our souls are twin and timeless.

Hope, that old Saint,
A phantom O so faint,
Barely there yet always heard
Almost alive and almost dead

It walks a ghostly moonlit path
Paved of long groans and short mirth
This vagabond from some far off realm
Preaching of a great and beautiful balm

Haunting every sad soul
With visions of being made whole
Whispering to dry white bones
"Rise and carry your bag of stones"