Dear October

Dear October,

Thank you for the second summers

and sometimes the third.

In autumn

I can smell the sun setting.

I am grateful for its rise,

thinking about Grandma,

a strong Scorpio,

and her wise advice.

Walking across the land,

I hear the trees and birds sing,

native ghosts roam.

My ancestors move with me.

I listen to the crows,

the messengers,

and the flickering lights

leave

a beautiful tick-tock of dormancy,

not death.

Here and now.

Alive.

True.

The wind has rhythm

sweeping through

the room—

cleansing me with energy,

natural joy.

Colors paint the sky

and I

breathe.

Free.

Love,

Cleo