. . .falling leeeeeaves drift by my. . . ”September
Song?”  September IS a song.  Plus she sings.
Plays from memory so beautifully, tears spring
to your eyes.  Still hot in these parts, but you
can feel edges glueing themselves to the air.
Cold ones are by a twin known as Fall.  Know her
by trees beginning to sign goodbye to their leaves
and children turning to wave gravely at long, lazy
days in the shade of an oak or floating on a raft
in a pool with Rover grinning beside.  No bus
or carpool schedules press.   Homework!   Many
adults feel a little lost if we’re not heading back to
school.  Or are, for Fall is about trying to cling to
a wall that you know is too slippery.  Nothing there
to hold onto.  Autumn is not that way.  That is her,
jumping in leaves to hear them crunch.  Rattling on
the whole time  about “in” shades of wine, claret,
burnt orange, and “antique” gold.   Pastels are out,
she assures us   Too weak, too pallid.  White soooo
over.  And don’t think she is all about fashion. 
Count on her to give a free lesson, then turn around’
and invite you to toss a football back and forth
or stroll through a dressing-up park.   She builds
bonfires that add sexy sparks to our eyes as we
argue over the right way to roast a wienie or how
black a marshmallow ought to be.   If our side won
the game, she, too, can be heard all the way downtown.
If the bozos lost, she hoots and jeers so loud,
mates on the winning team complain their ears
ring.   Autumn is the with-it gal who sprinkles stars
on dark navy skies that you have to see to believe.  
She knows where there’s a heartthrob when you need
one.  Cleans up old ones for the albums the rest of
other have stored in our heads.   Fall?   I don’t know.
I have felt  myself falling so often.  I have seen
so many loved ones fall ill and die.  Autumn
is a winking Jane Frost on a swaying tree branch,
painting up a storm.  Fall is a gone-brown leaf
crumbling and washing away in a downpour. 
Another, and another.  Yet I want both.  Suspect
you do.  Why?  Because a person has to fall
to know what is to walk tall.  Because free-falling
is a dream we try to dream over and over.
Fall may lead to better.  Good to make room,
I tell myself.   Natural scheme, and all that.
Autumn laughs and tries on another outfit.   

   (c)  Phyllis Jean Green,  September, 2010
 

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