My Amber Place

I’m going to October, my amber place,

where life unfolds in richly hued shades.

The sun is dim in the morning fog

mountain peaks invisible

The air is fresh and damp,

infused with a salty sea fragrance

mixed with a woody, damp, and

musty scent of October leaves

Afternoon sun burns off the chill and mist

Sparrows sing and tussle among the shrubs below

The large Flicker who calls as he bobs his head and tail

He shouts that October is here, telling the world he is ready.

Tree frogs croak in the afternoon sun, their final hurrah before

They must hibernate for colder months

Join me in my amber room, let’s look at the russet, umber, and burgundy fingers, now fatigued and dropping down to their ankles and toes.

Walk with me to see the sun’s beams glinting on

sunshine-colored trees, peeking through branches and

ricocheting to porch pumpkins and butter chrysanthemums that

are growing next to the Ghouls that stand in yards, waiting for night to light them up,

so that they can roar at walkers, and charm drivers

“Charm?” you say – “A matter of opinion.”

“Yes.”

Taller and scarier, pumpkin head or scarecrow,

Skeletons and aliens, all competing to do it better.

“We could bob for apples on the front lawn.

Over there is a big vat of water,

with yellow and red floaters. And the prize,

a caramel-coated apple rolled in nuts.”

“NOOOO,” shouts the twelve-foot ghoul and

reaches out a hand

“The apples are mine, from a friend.”

We turn to look where his bony finger points,

and see a bare tree that gave fruit to the kids on the street

while letting the bandit raccoons of the night pick a few.

I hope you enjoyed the tour of my amber place, the

russet-gold October of falling leaves and slumbering trees.