"death cannot harm me / more than you have harmed me, / my beloved life."—page 12, October by Louise Glück
Season and light and song. Life and lament and loss. The paradox of October is mine in November. There is a looking back toward summer and a looking forward toward winter. There is a rootedness in autumn that is unexpected. This is the middle of life. "This is the present, an allegory of waste." At times it is stark in its delivery. At times the light changes. Dims. Casts shadow upon shadow in a kaleidoscope of darkness.
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