Written by Joshua Nacy

I had always thought August
was the beginning of fall,
bringing the crisp mornings
and soft gusts of wind
that rustled changing leaves,
that played with your hair now.

I used to cherish my Septembers,
sipped and tasted slowly,
Earl Gray with hints of sugar and cream,
for the weather had already
dropped a few degrees
with passing rainfalls and storm clouds.

October was colder than
I always imagined it being.
The days were somehow shorter
than they always used to be,
as if Earth Herself had grown as well,
no time for follies of a younger age.

August came and went again,
this one marked by Georgia hills
and stars. This one marked by thrills
and stolen stares. Stares into your
sapphire eyes where flames gleamed
and danced. When time did us part and
August came to an end, I held your hand,
lost in those eyes and for the first time
I never wanted a map to get out.

September waltzed in, to the tune
of some Taylor song, and settled
in like a soft sunlight in the afternoon.
Afternoons filled with laying in the grass
by your side, remarking on how blue
the sky is when you slow down
and actually try to notice it. And since then,
I’ve tried to slow down and see every
sparkle in your eye and savor every
tone of your voice and laugh.

October blew in on the wings of the
crisp morning air. You bought me coffee,
pumpkin spice,
always iced.
From a window, I watched leaves fall
and float down from their trees.
There, I closed my eyes and felt
the moment my life had culminated in.
The sound of your breathing. The train passed.
The smell of a burning candle – pinewood, cedar,
ash – and a half-baked apple pie.

And sitting there, I smiled. I thought of you
and the passing of every seasons to come.
From the dying August heat to October’s
crisp, morning breezes you’d shield me from.
Of candles and fireplaces filled with smoke
and ash. Of noticing the blue in every sky
and the tones of your laugh.
Of Octobers filled with
half-baked apple pies.