September

I got up early this morning,
sleep still on my skin,
to sit on my steps and watch the day break.
I don’t do this as often as I’d like.
Blackberry sage steam sweetens the dewy air;
My ancient calico companion warms her old hips
in the sunsquare right beside my old hips.
She, too, wishes we did this more often.

I want to hold this moment in my palm:
Let me hold the light as it shines through black-eyed Susan petals
as they curl wearily in autumn’s approach.
Let me breathe the slight chill in September’s air; 
a quiet elegy to summer’s end.
Let me close my eyes against the bright of the rising sun, 
my face awash in its warmth.

The air is waking to cardinal calls and squirrel chatter. 
Sunflowers lean eastward with melancholy grace; 
their heavy heads bent sleepily.
And I sit here, willing time to stand still for just a moment longer.

I blink, and the light shifts.
The glow of this new minute is even more beautiful than the last.
sun stretching, yawning yellow, 
shadows shorten, and just the edges of the maple tree’s leaves 
curl in an early autumn rust.

Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be?
Changing light, changing seasons, 
changing years lead to more and more beauty.
Boys grow into men:
shadows of their boyhood may whisper in their smiles, 
but their eyes are blazing, new fires burning in their bellies.

Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to be? 
The day breaks, 
the sun moves higher in the sky.
Languid summer surrenders to emerging fall.
We relish one moment and move onto the next,
and the next, and the next.
And the next.