Where the Porch Lights Stay On

October is a town at the edge of Popham Beach
where the porch lights come on early
and stay lit long after the tide has fallen asleep.

The streets are paved with wet leaves,
gold and rust pressed flat
by last night’s rain.
Every cottage smells faintly
of woodsmoke and old stories.

You walk past the general store—
closed for the season,
but someone has left a pumpkin
on the steps,
its crooked grin catching the glow
of the lighthouse across the river.

The air is soft with the sound
of distant waves,
steady as a heartbeat
you didn’t know you missed.

There’s a path behind the dunes
that only appears in October,
a narrow trail leading
to a clearing of driftwood logs
arranged like a forgotten gathering place.

You sit.
The wind wraps around you
like a blanket someone meant to leave behind.

October is a place
that doesn’t ask questions.
It simply opens its quiet,
its lantern-lit evenings,
its salt-sweet loneliness—
and lets you stay
as long as you need.