They wrestle through warm days and cool nights, October pleading with September to let go.
September can be hot tempered, heavy with fruit, and full of self-harvest. But underneath there is fear, for the ground is depleted.
The October sky whispers truth in shades of blue and grey. Its okay to let go. All things must die so they can rise anew.
September cannot see past itself to what October knows. That a fall can be a grace full of golden depths.
October is not ashamed of its amber stalks and orange leaves. They are the prophetic colors of glory ahead, not weakness past. The last green of self is never lost, only hidden, transforming under the gold cloak of surendar.