October: A When

By Cliff Lake

 

October: A When

 

Shadows waver in the thin light.

Pale and lifeless under a sky strewn with torn clouds overlapped,

And swiftly moving.

There is no warmth in this morning sun,

A lingering frost attests to its defeat.

The low steady breeze saps heat beneath layered clothing,

Dry and steeled, it seeks exposed flesh, gnawing.

A look westward yields only a gathered indistinct gray,

The flat cover of clouds without enough moisture,

If it would only rain, then it would finally clear,

But today is given over to shroud,

And the whisper of winter not yet arrived.

The ache begins now,

Perhaps ankle or knee, a wrist, an elbow,

Or low in the back, the old injury.

We all have one.

A cold low murmur telling tales of incautiousness and accident,

Unmeant and unwanted, collected from life.

This is a bell that will ring all day.

Only minutes under sky have stolen what heat you thought to hoard,

One human’s effort pitted against inexorable nature.

Only time is promised.

So long as you live, time is promised.

But you will have to live out today.

A cold, gray today.

Night will come.


Cliff Lake 10/9/2022

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022

Location: Dalton, MA, USA

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