Perpetually November

I'm fairly certain that my part of Heaven 

will be perpetually November.

I find myself driving the morning roads 

through pockets of mist and streams of light,

the radiant leaves glowing, the coating dew shimmering, 

my eyes drinking in each vista 

like a fawn too long away from its Mother.

I hold those long shadows and vibrant contrasts 

in my soul all year long.

If I could, I would abandon shelter 

to live among the foggy byways, 

immersed in the beauty of my month 

until the last leaf had fallen.

I would soak up every drop, 

every ray of light, 

every twirling leaf, 

and keep it in my heart-jar 

to open and dive into 

at any necessary moment thereafter.