The Museum of October

What prevents the museum's visitor from saying carpe diem and seizing the month?

The real October, a museum that stays

Beyond the threshold of amber mist

A doorway stitched, its frame displaced

Its solemn curator, the wind admits.

In the halls, summer speaks

With its light bottled in the cold

Children's laughter, the rooms repeat

Its sound encased in crystal tomes.

A hall now home to winter's vows,

Snowflakes still behind glass jars,

Frost etches lines on hidden windows

Sleigh bells ringing from afar.

At October's endless middle

Stands an empty, hollow frame;

Its contents amiss, a puzzle

No glass, still views of autumn rain

Within its clear centre, still appears,

Autumn rain, red leaves, and shifting light;

No glass seen, when I draw near

The missing fall in sight.

Falling red leaves, I do not see

Instead, I reach and catch;

I step through the frame and feel

Them drift into my hands.

The museum of October has now claimed

Summer past, winter in glass

Its leaves still fall; I step through the frame

Reach for them, and grasp.

For Mikeydred's October prompt

And Vocal's October Challenge

Some mirrors show your face. Others show what you'd rather not see. What might yours reveal? 🪞