September, you’re bringing the autumn mists right to my front door. Your light is breaking through the grit of this past year and whispering that some things can be counted on. You carry leaves, withered and spent by summer, down to the ground for a final rest. You’re compassionate in your honesty, reminding us that everything and everyone is born, and everything and everyone dies. Time will always move us forward, and the one guarantee we have is that nothing stays the same. But change comes in many colors, and yours is gold. You spin into the wind an apple-cheeked, golden laughter, and after winter’s freeze and summer’s furnace, your mist is a salve to the hurting.