to meet you

the few block walk
brimmed with expectancy
and recalled other autumns
to mind
past, but still part
my chest faintly ached
with nostalgia
in the cool apple air
and a grief-like need
to possess 
the saffron mums
and Cinderella pumpkins
on neighboring stoops
filled my throat
the leafy sidewalks,
burnt orange and soft yellow,
kept my course
and pace
as I longed for old falls
mint in memory
with fictitious ease
and for some minutes I lingered
there, pining
until I passed through
and put longing away
and I was awash
in present promise
so when I arrived
to meet you, old friend
ordering chai and warm spices,
my heart was already
quite steeped
in October


The earth has yielded its produce; God, our God, blesses us. Psalm 67:6

‘All which I took from thee I did but take,
Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.
All which thy child’s mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:
Rise, clasp My hand, and come!’
from The Hound of Heaven, by Francis Thompson (1859–1907)