when the trees were in the height of change,
brilliant in shades of crimson and amber,
gold and rust

I would begin to feel isolated.

when the crisp chill in the air was a welcome
sort of cold, after a sweltering summer

I would find it hard to stay awake.

when oddly-shaped and colorful gourds happily
congregated on porches and window sills,

I would not feel like doing the things I loved.

when beautiful leaves lined the pavement
on back roads and alleys

I would find it hard to keep from crying.

when 7pm brought about a halo of light,
that dripped over the sky like honey

I would forget to eat.

when cold nights were spent cozy, huddled
around a roaring fire, the smoky scent
staying in your hair,

I would find it hard to concentrate.

when the clocks give us another hour to sleep,
only to take it back in the evening

I would move so slowly.

when fresh apple cider from a local apple orchard
was the sweetest taste of the season

I would constantly be exhausted.

when winter breathed his icy breath,
heralding his arrival,

I would find it hard to keep my mind clear.

when it was autumn of the year that was not quite nineteen and I was three years younger,

I was suicidal.