Dates Of Autumn [repack] May 2026

The fourth date is a wild one— the wind tears down the maples’ modesty, shakes the oaks until they rattle their brown secrets. You find a feather caught in the screen door, and the moon is a thumbnail scraped across black paper.

By the fifth date, the geese have signed their V’s across the falling sky. Pumpkins turn into lanterns for one brave night, then soften into the ground. You learn that beauty doesn’t last— it only ripens, then releases.

On the seventh date, the trees stand naked without shame. The sun, tired of its own ambition, slides down the horizon by four. You light a candle before dinner because the dark has become a kind of guest. dates of autumn

On the tenth date, autumn hands you its keys. The pumpkins are collapsed, the leaves are a brown paste on the curb. You stand at the edge of the yard, breathing the last of the woodsmoke, and you realize: the dates of autumn were not appointments to keep, but thresholds to cross— each one a small permission to let go.

So you turn your collar up. You walk inside. You leave the door unlocked for the winter because you know now: every ending is just a dark room where the next beginning is waiting to be lit. The fourth date is a wild one— the

The sixth date is the quietest: a fog that swallows the hills, a spider’s geometry glazed with dew, the sound of a single acorn hitting the driveway. You remember every person you have ever loved in October, and you forgive them all.

The ninth date: the final hinge before the long cold. You walk through the orchard where nothing is left but a few stubborn crabapples and the memory of wasps. The wind has a new vocabulary— nouns like grief and rest . Pumpkins turn into lanterns for one brave night,

Here is the full text for “Dates of Autumn,” an original poetic piece written in the spirit of the season.