October

[rejectomorph]

A big white grin of a crescent moon rises into the clear sky, and a chilly wind blows, rustling the dry leaves and sending a hail of acorns clattering down rooftops. The stars are bright tonight. It is a night to stay worm in the house, with hot chocolate and a flickering fire. But October always makes me think of journeys. Desert highways run through my thoughts, toward the glittering lights of distant cities made small by the vastness of night. Old journeys come back to me in restless dreams, and I wonder about vanished sights, back along the road, back as far as I can remember. When I step out into the darkness, it swallows up the moment. I might be anywhere, anytime. The big moon just grins.