Dates Of Autumn May 2026

The fourth date is a wild one— the wind tears down the maples’ modesty, shakes the oaks until they rattle their brown secrets. You find a feather caught in the screen door, and the moon is a thumbnail scraped across black paper.

Here is the full text for “Dates of Autumn,” an original poetic piece written in the spirit of the season. dates of autumn

The second date comes with a clatter of dry leaves skating down the asphalt. You wear a sweater you forgot you owned, and the light tilts sideways after three o’clock. The fourth date is a wild one— the

So you turn your collar up. You walk inside. You leave the door unlocked for the winter because you know now: every ending is just a dark room where the next beginning is waiting to be lit. The second date comes with a clatter of

By the fifth date, the geese have signed their V’s across the falling sky. Pumpkins turn into lanterns for one brave night, then soften into the ground. You learn that beauty doesn’t last— it only ripens, then releases.

On the third date, the apples are heavy and dumb with sugar. A smoke of woodsmoke leans from a chimney before the fire is even lit. You begin to crave things that take hours: bread, patience, the slow undressing of the garden.

On the tenth date, autumn hands you its keys. The pumpkins are collapsed, the leaves are a brown paste on the curb. You stand at the edge of the yard, breathing the last of the woodsmoke, and you realize: the dates of autumn were not appointments to keep, but thresholds to cross— each one a small permission to let go.