October Like a Dining Room

Standing in September’s antechamber,
We wait,
While trees don their bold fire for a short time,
Stripping one leaf, then hundreds,
Decorate October's dining room.

We saunter in, invitation assumed,
One foot anchored to each room,
Over the threshold between life and death.
Pausing, moving our minds from verdant green,
Into the burning flames of gold, red, orange, a soft carpet,
Decay sweetly beckoning,
And scents wafting in from the kitchen.

Where has the time gone?
A brief life,
A dance left behind,
A memory from another room's purpose.

The bowls on the candlelit table are briefly filled, and swiftly emptied.
Pumpkin, or squash soup, and spices,
Cinnamon and nutmeg that never see the light of summer’s long days,
Warm stews of savory roasted roots, creamy potatoes from the garden,
Summer pickles that have waited long enough to yield their best.
Apple pies or crumbles.

The solemn candle lit feasts before inevitability,
The conversations in community,
Forward into the yearly death,
Becoming stronger with age, the pull.

Under the dim chandelier
We converse uneasily,
As the candles shorten,
Knowing the time is coming,
Darkness increasing,
To collect our coats,
Returning home.