October is a wretched month of waiting and worry.
Each day might be the last of warmth before winter.
Nature knows this and strips herself down to bare bones,
The animals scatter to warmer hiding places and sunnier skies.
October marches mercilessly forward.
Grief and mourning nestle in the heart, their chosen hibernation cave.
I think about all that once was, all that I am and am not.
When will I too disappear?
October is limbo, a trap between the past and present.
I waltz through the fog and visit my memories.
This month, the ethereal is tangible.
I see my friend on the other side and we embrace.
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