October, Country of the Last Light

I enter October as I would enter a country,
a vast country opening beneath a brilliant sky,
rocky hills rising in every direction,
the whole wide domain calling me onward.

Here the wind travels freely across the high places,
the sky stretches immense above the ridges,
and evening comes early, pouring its darkness
over trails stained with the last colors of the year.

Listen—there, from a high mountain crest,
an elk calls for its mate,
its great cry crossing summit after summit,

piercing through the vast country of October.

Come with me down this hidden path,
the path September kept beneath its green abundance,
now opening between the ridges
and climbing toward the high country.

We follow it deeper into the mountains,
sun pouring through the branches above us,
stems breaking beneath our steps,
the wilderness speaking in its own rough voice.

October gives us this country to wander,
these darkening skies,
this last fierce beauty before winter takes the high places.

Pull the blanket close and walk farther.
Follow every trail that turns into the wilderness.
See where October carries you.

Here the final twilight gathers across the hills,
and the October grows vast around us,
drawing us deeper into its solitude.
We keep walking until the trail disappears
and winter waits beyond the last ridge.