The day flicks sparks of autumn into my eyes. October has a different scent.
-Erie Chapman
The day flicks sparks of autumn into my eyes. October has a different scent.
The other side of spring is things dying so why does October’s breath smell so fresh?
In the hills, the earth puffs the smoke of summer’s remains.
Clouds search the curved horizon for a place to hide.
October wears a different scent. I will be present to her today.
I pull on her sweater, breathe her musk. In the Hospice blocks away, this is the last autumn for the woman in the pink robe who reaches for her jacket, slips it on, shuffles into the courtyard on limbs tired as old oaks. She leans into the sun, breathes the aroma of her last October.
In the hospital across the street, a new person breathes his first breath, inhales his first fall, the first days of his earth journey. His mother smiles out the window. Flicks of autumn spark her eyes. She knows October has a different scent…
Today we will talk of energy – the river of love that flows down the mountains past the shedding 
Aspens. She invites us to baptize ourselves in her water and to lift diamond droplets to drape the necks of those in need.
Her water is alive with the only energy that can slake our thirst.
She reminds us of the living water.
Today we will talk of intelligence –
the things my hands know,
the genius of your eyes,
the wide brilliance of your arms,
how smart you are to know, in your being,
what my being needs.
Today we will talk of presence –
the way you enter my room,
quiet as an angel, sit near me,
draw away some of my pain,
shift it onto your smooth shoulders,
share with me the communion of suffering.
Tonight, we will talk of light as the sun collapses into the October hills.
October has a different scent. We will breathe her together.
The coming night is our friend. We will welcome her to our circle,
listen as she reads to us October’s story.
At midnight, we will dream our own dreams & each others.
Dream-flying over October, we will land on the shoulder of the woman in the pink robe
& whisper relief. We will alight near the tiny
baby and sing a lullaby.
We will lie in moonlight by October’s river
as she flows beneath the Aspens.
We will sip her night scent.
We will drink a glass of autumn,
And celebrate Love’s gifts.
-Erie Chapman
*Note – The touch drawing is by Deborah Koff-Chapin
The painting is Night Over the Yenisey River, by Anatoliy Klimenko
Journal of Sacred Work 
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