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As my own auburn locks turn to grey and I add another year to my time on Earth this month, I post once again the poem “October” by Paul Laurence Dunbar. This is my favorite poem about my favorite month (Go Libras!) because I believe it captures the true essence of the October of my New England childhood—and the one that lives on in my heart in the relatively seasonless California of my adulthood.

October is the treasurer of the year,
And all the months pay bounty to her store;
The fields and orchards still their tribute bear,
And fill her brimming coffers more and more.
But she, with youthful lavishness,
Spends all her wealth in gaudy dress,
And decks herself in garments bold
Of scarlet, purple, red, and gold.

She heedeth not how swift the hours fly,
But smiles and sings her happy life along;
She only sees above a shining sky;
She only hears the breezes’ voice in song.
Her garments trail the woodlands through,
And gather pearls of early dew
That sparkle, till the roguish Sun
Creeps up and steals them every one.

But what cares she that jewels should be lost,
When all of Nature’s bounteous wealth is hers?
Though princely fortunes may have been their cost,
Not one regret her calm demeanor stirs.
Whole-hearted, happy, careless, free,
She lives her life out joyously,
Nor cares when Frost stalks o’er her way
And turns her auburn locks to gray.

—Paul Laurence Dunbar, Oak and Ivy (1893)

I haven’t experienced decent fall colors since I was in Rocky Mountain National Park three years ago. Tragic.