Half-Past October

Indian Summer
has merged now
into half-past October
with the scrunch and skitter
of leaves underfoot
and strident blue skies
to compliment the burnt orange
bedazzlement at every turn.
New England has a harvest party
full of moon and spangled dahlias,
fragranced with leaf-litter cologne
and the remaining green tomatoes,
while we make the last of the jam,
and bring on saucing the apples.
We know winter is around the corner,
as the days are already shorter,
and the fullness is fermenting,
spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg,
burnished, sweet, and cozy,
brimming with butternut squash,
and we can still sleep
with the windows open a crack.
Like a wall-flower,
we are awaiting our first frost,
which is coming toward us,
like an intrepid, totally
authoritative tango partner
who is slowly, but very intently,
crossing the room to ask
for the privilege of taking you
on an intimate spin across floor.
I’m enjoying watching the approach,
anticipating the tempo and duration
of the inevitable dance of dormancy,
happy nonetheless with this
tantalizing foreplay
called October.

by Polly Castor
10/20/25