The September
The year is getting mature, like humans
September’s Sky is So Blue
Or is it Grey?
A foggy veil over the fields
That not even the greatest
Optimist can lift!
.
September is the joy of colors
Not loud, screaming tones
But earth-hues rumbling
In the crowns of trees.
.
September is the entrance of chill
Mornings that feel cozier
To stay beneath the covers
Evenings touched by cold.
.
September is the scent of decay
Mushrooms spring forth
Across the soil and gnaw
Beneath the earth at bygone kin.
.
September is the beginning of silence
Birdsong dwindles away
Swallows gather and leave
The owl practices its call in the dark.
.
September is the chance of harvest
Stack apples and grain on the shelf
Wasps stagger drunken
On fermenting fruit juice.
.
September soon tips the day
Light fades and night prevails
Humans glimpse the sun’s rays
In their hurriedness.
.
September invites a quiet dance
Gratitude
For what has passed
Time does not stand still.
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Thank you for reading. September always reminds me of how time moves quietly, in shades of both beauty and loss. Writing is my way of capturing those fleeting moments. If these words resonated with you, I’m grateful that we have shared this part of the season together.
About the Creator
Henrik Hageland
A poet, a writer of feelings and hope. A Dane and inhibitant of the Earth thinking about what is to come.
A good story told or invented. Human all the way through.
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