October Velvet

Nothing satisfies the weary spirit

Such as the velvet of an October eve

Freckled by reticent sprinklings of rain

Which thicken like traffic on the ritual commute

Dull and murmuring from hours held on high

Cheeks of the sky flushed with the advances

Of a devilish chill, insistent, persuasive

Reflect on the browned mirror of the mountains

Color their dying eyes with a final surge of joy

Before the well-advanced annual condition claims the upper hand

The pearlescent opaque winter mists

Seep across nose and mouth at the peaks’ final breath

Cool the cheeks of the clouds into tones of frostbite

Remind raindrops of the cozy, homey quality

Of the final smack upon welcoming pavement

Massasoit’s charcoal figure, pensive, pipe in hand

Watches the sun sink into exhausted slumber

The furious rain slides down his nose and cloth folds

Twilight poses a challenge to sharp sightless eyes

Tacit, in memoriam he holds, as the autumn chill settles into his iron limbs