Swathes of Golden Ochre

I sit in the kitchen

and stare at the dishes needing done

catching the dust motes as they dance

in the wild sun splaying across

my window sill just above the sink,

the screens are all tucked away

for hibernation

the heat of summer has lingered and

gone but I welcome the shift

gladly pushing over thirty's threshold

from one month to the next

as the leaves perform their

waltzing demise, meandering

through the year's twilight hours...

Far in the north, a chill is born

answering the call to change,

opening its lazy September mouth

to take a deep, long breath

o n e...

...t w o

t h r e e...

its sweeping exhale plunging down

across plains and mountains

forests and lakes

touching the earth with frosted tongue,

mid-summer's fire coated in ash

banking my embers that

hum with October's splendor,

loosening the grief of another year

coming to close

I'm swayed from knee-high corn and

ripened peach

drawn to kin and comfort,

a calico harvest of fiery squash and grain

an invitation to proximity and conversation

planted around bonfires of truth,

our hearts chase loamy dreams at dusk

the scent of woolen promise permeates–

pungent summer sweat at last chastened by

sweet autumnal spice,

apples, cinnamon, and nutmeg

Lush is usurped by crisp culmination,

crunches and crackles underfoot

resinous, musky delights unfolding

and I want to breathe it all in,

hold this beautiful bounty

in my lungs,

let its velvet spores nestle in

sheltered dormancy within me

a womb for vernal aspirations

as they bide their time

I sigh in surrender and

heed the lure of harvest verve

my feet guiding me over wood and glazed tile

out to witness nature's pageantry–

decadent swathes of golden ochre, sage

and deep russet draped upon

my small slice of heaven,

and in this moment,

captured by the watery light

of a dying season,

I am brilliantly alive;

the dishes can wait