When October Comes
When October comes, the sky darkens,
the people return from their visiting,
from their councils and their tournaments.
They secure provisions for the months ahead,
then retreat to their chambers,
asking inwardly questions such as these:
Where do I come from and where am I going?
Do I belong to myself? Or to the others?
What power is this that rises up in me?
From which springs should I drink?
Why do I still carry this worn out likeness?
How can I drive off frailty and dissipation?
With whom should I share my privatemost thoughts?
In which field should I stand firm?
Where can medicine be found?
How can I make myself ready?
They know well the name of the road they travel,
and the fate of any treasure they might find,
so they would step with skill on their journey,
and not diverge,
from the way of all things’ abiding.
Repeatedly they search themselves,
sifting the dust, decanting the waters,
testing by acid and by fire.
They are seeking the center,
seeking for the unfailing root.
© 2026 Solomon Buccola