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.