There’s something rare about October
with its honey colored air.
It doesn’t seem to need the sun
rather it kind of glows from inside itself
like looking at the world through polished amber.
There’s something rare about October.
Coolness that defines it’s texture on my skin.
Ripened heads of thigh high brome
that silhouette the prairie wind
and the aromatic tang of wood smoke
from an open fire.
There’s something rare about October.
Cornstalks like yellowed phonebook pages
rustling in the prairie breeze.
The earthy smell
of a furrow freshly turned.
The roiling surf of cottonwoods
swaying in the wind
or the haunting call
of a southward bound Canada Goose.
I remember tramping cross these plains with my Dad
prairie grass tugging at our knees.
We thought that we were only walking our Dakotah home
But looking back upon those times
I think that we were actually
learning what it means to Be.
There’s something rare about October.
Mac Mc Mahon