It hasn't arrived in North Florida yet, but Eric's beautiful post of October reminded me of my Muse:
Autumn stays and brings a tender hurt
to things that need to change or rest or turn,
gives to us what's offered from the earth
and leaves us leaves to rake or bag or burn.
With smell of smoke a muse arrives as well--
for poets who would prattle, pose, or preach--
to make me glad or sad, I cannot tell,
but Autumn's grasp seems to exceed my reach.