My Favorite Time

Did you ever pause along the walk

to gaze above your head,

To turn your eyes toward white fluffy clouds

in a crisp blue sky?

Did you ever close your eyes

and partake of the cool clean breeze,

Imagining you could taste the smoky aromas

from summer's last cook outs?

That to me is September, my favorite time of year.

Did you ever open the front door

and dash back inside for a jacket,

Then stand shivering in the park

to see the subtle changing of a season?

Did you ever watch the children run and laugh,

tramping through piles of leaves and mud puddles,

Squealing like mad little piglets,

dropping to lie breathless on the damp ground?

That to me is October, my favorite time of year.

Did you ever think you'd lose your innocence,

that unchecked joy at simple existence,

Or that wonder could become cynical

in a world turned away from the child?

Did you ever expect to come full circle,

as season follows season, and winter returns,

To find a new humbleness, and a conviction that life,

with all its inanities, is indeed worth blessing?

That to me is November, my favorite time of year.

Perhaps to you, clouds simply block the sun,

and the wind blows smoke in your eyes.

Perhaps the leaves clutter your yard.

Perhaps children track mud through your house.

Perhaps you never had questions;

never wondered why a bee buzzed.

But on Christmas Eve, you built a bicycle,

and tried to make tab A fit slot B.

That to me is December, my favorite time of all.

Copyright 1993