OCTOBER'S GIFT

Peg McNabb

A frosty air formed autumn's breath.
The sky, a bright October blue.
The leafy trees, in season's flame,
Waved welcome with each sundry hue.

As many children, strangely dressed
Emerged unseen to see the park.
Squinty-eyed, they faced the sun
As eyes conformed to light from dark.

Samantha, in an idle mood,
And lazy with the sun's caress,
Preferred to lie on warming grass
Enjoying autumn's wondrous dress.

White clouds adrift in azure seas
Seemed herald for this perfect morn.
The playful leaves, red, orange, and gold,
Danced with the wind, aloft, skyborne.

The thoughtful child, while peaceful there
And grateful for the grand display,
Felt rising grief, unbidden,
Dim the brilliance of this autumn day.

For down Below, few colors reached.
A sacrifice felt just by one
Who only could imagine
Flaming colors dancing in the sun.

He'd never seen the fiery maple
Blaze against a frame of sky.
Or piled the colors just enough
To scatter them and watch them fly.

"October's gift to me," she thought,
"Has beauty far too rich to keep.
So I'll gather up a portion
And deliver it when he's asleep."

"So when he wakens he will find
The first thing that his eyes will see
Will be the gift of autumn's color
From October, and from me."

The next morn found him staring
At the middle of his chamber room.
Where, like a dream his eyes drank in
A blaze of colors full in bloom.

For by his bed, all brightly lit,
A tree unlike he'd ever seen.
Not maple, oak or walnut,
But a cross of something in between.

Somehow, a simple piece of wood
Was carved into a trunk-like shape -
And many colored branches
Were attached with yards of string, and tape.

And all around the bottom
Many candles served as morning sun.
So Vincent could see easily
What nature's timely paint had done.

And all the while, Samantha peeked,
Clandestine in her hiding place.
And though he uttered not a word,
She saw the wonder on his face.

She could not know his keener sense
Had recognized her muffled laugh.
"Oh, sweet Samantha", Vincent thought,
"How pure your love on my behalf."

The children knew his "journal time"
Was private, an unspoken law;
So when he opened up his pen,
She watched in rapt delight and awe.

Just before he closed his journal,
In ceremony of the ages,
He chose the brightest colored leaf
And pressed her love between the pages.

The moment hung in silence-
Each with love's assurance, heart-to-heart.
She learned that day a timeless truth -
The magic simple gifts impart.

 

October, 1994