October morning
opened the door
brisk, breezy,
and gentle.
No thunder.
No spectacle.
Just a clean chill
touching my face
like a truth
that knew how
to be tender.
The air entered first,
carrying copper leaves,
acorns,
cinnamon breath,
and the luminous scent
of pumpkins resting
on quiet stoops.
I stood
at the threshold,
wrapped in the hush
of amber light,
and felt the day
Come closer.
Not to demand.
Not to admonish.
Not to pull me
into a hurry.
But to remind me
that restoration
can arrive
with wool-soft patience,
that peace
has its own vitality,
that even the wind
knows how to move
with discernment.
October leaned in
with cool hands
and kissed the room
awake.
It brushed past
yesterday’s rancor,
cleared the corners
of my spirit,
and left no room
for anything despondent
to stay.
Outside,
The trees loosened
their gold
without apology.
The sidewalk held
small offerings
of maple, oak,
and marigold-colored leaves.
Somewhere,
The tea began to steep.
Somewhere,
a candle remembered
Its flame.
And inside me,
an antiquated sorrow
finally learned
How to leave.
Just breathe.
Just presence.
Just the cogency
of a morning
that knows exactly
What it came
to offer.
So I opened
the door wider,
not for everything,
only for what arrives
with integrity,
warmth,
and light.
And there I was,
softened,
steady,
luminous,
letting the October breeze
find my skin,
letting the amber morning
hold my name,
beautifully ready
for the day
to love me back—
© 2026 Sherley Delia. All rights reserved.
