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