A Practically Perfect October Day
When the demilune moon finally slips down beneath the pale pink horizon of dawn, a brand new day shall appear. But for now, suspended in the muffled velvet of night, the Earth sleeps away, blind and unknowing, waiting for doors to fling open, morning bells to ring out.
While out past the planets, where the blue of the sky dissolves into black, and back into blue once again, there is a land where unnamed stars wink at each other and galaxies rattle round in the pocket of God like loose change. Deep within these unknowable borders is a room lined with windows that never close and in the middle of that room is a shimmering table made of golden water and children’s dreams. At that table October now sits, calmly waiting to speak.
She gazes at those who have gathered around her - the Azure Sky and the Raincloud, the Crisp Breeze, the Hail, and the Fog. The Snow pays her little mind, for he knows he shall not be called on for duty this day - he is instead in a corner, whispering white secrets to the inattentive Heat Wave.
The Nor’easter is hopeful, the Ice Storm’s asleep.
October tosses her auburn hair and sings the meeting to order.
There is no time to waste.
This day must be planned.
Known to reign with a benevolent hand, she privately thinks her Summer predecessors have been a bit harsh with their assignments this year and is therefore more determined than ever to bestow a salubrious mood over the thirty-one days that lie under her rule.
So she shakes her head sharply at the Rain and the Ice, gives a firm no to the Tornadic Wind.
But she nods to the brilliant Azure Blue Sky, smiles warmly at the Brisk Breeze of Autumn. Both disappear in an instant, at once on their journey to the still sleeping Earth. She sends Lingering Shadow for a dollop of mystery, dispatches Bright Sunshine, Crystal Air and Cool Night.
Then, clearing the room with a one wave of her hand, she sits at a tall open window to watch.
She soon spies a woman down far below, packing her suitcase, kissing a big white dog goodbye on the top of his head. She sees the woman throw the suitcase into the back of her car. Her gaze follows the woman into the green mountains, watching as she sings along to the music, her hair flying out of the open window, a smile upon her sunkissed face.
And October is pleased.
Her work is appreciated.
Indeed, as she continues to observe the happy lady on her holiday below, she decides that maybe she shall keep the next few days just like this particular one. After all, judging by the lady’s reaction, this day is practically perfect.
And gathering up her skirts of cardinal feathers and fallen leaves, with an imperious toss of her auburn hair, October sweeps from the room.
“There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October”
Painting above by Lucien Levy-Dhurmer