Octobre.

Octobre:

Golden crisp, orange-yellow, and brown leaves not falling from the sky.
The sun still watching over like a white disk,
stuck in the summertime weather.
The fog moves in later,
and it feels like summer,
a day with no obligations,
nowhere to go,
no one to see.

October baseball,
very much alive,
the San Francisco streets filled with orange and black --
strangers who couldn't be happier,
sharing their hopes,
investing them in the boys of summer.

But the summer air is long forgotten,
left behind the tangles of September.
Start counting down the days until thanksgiving,
Christmas, Hanukkah, winter break.
Halloween just around the corner,
summer's long gone.

It's October,
but it feels like July,
and illusion that we can not be overtaken by.
But yet we hang on still,
to early August, and mid-June,
back to months basked in lemonade,
freedom, baseball, summer-love,
it's October,
and we cling to these days with all we've got.