The Path Home

In yon house of refuge began my tale,

Betwixt that space and next hangs a thin veil,

These bounds in which I gasped taking first breath,

A whisper away from the grasp of death,

Opal and tourmaline decor all 'round,

By birth in this house to Scorpio bound,

Through cracked window view the boughs in the breeze,

Gentle is the cool air 'fore autumn freeze,

Goldenrod shines during the daylight hours,

Butterflies flit beside Snakeroot flowers,

Prime vantage point for beautiful sunset,

Leaves drifting down frame woodland silhouette,

Through dreamless hours, under full moon I roam,

Anticipating the comfort of home,

Along dark paths winds my hastened return,

Scent of candles wafts, sacred campfires burn,

Green of September to be left behind,

Cloudburst of emotion rocking the mind,

Along dusty drive for one moment more,

Feet fly to porch, hear the spring of the door,

Leafy hues decorate the hallowed halls,

Beautiful colors adorn dwelling walls,

Bewitching hours, familiar spirits,

Stop for treats on their annual visits,

Crafting and carving and costume delight,

Creaks and groans sparking memories of fright,

Candles illuminate shadowy night,

Gently resting my head in pale moonlight,

Gleeful arrival, this magical place,

The realm of October's welcoming space.

Thomas Durbin