The best thing about autumn is that there are no sure bets. The wind is cool one moment, then heated, then bitter cold as it runs scattershot over the harvest fields, now populated by pickers and spirits alike. The last of the carnivals roll through town, but will it be as we remembered as children? Parties pinpoint every weekend, but who will arrive? We don’t even know what jacket to wear on any given day. Autumn is the elusive and the feral, the beautiful woman with fiery red hair that you catch in the corner of your eye just as she exits the bar door, walking out of your life forever. She’s always in your mind now, what might have been, what you hope for “next time.” With autumn, you always think…“next time” and you have all winter to remember the missed chances. Let’s miss as few as possible this season, shall we? The poets in this issue certainly didn’t miss stopping me short and making me re-read their work. The items featured here weave a subtle, sometimes dark magic into the tedium of life. Like autumn, you never know what poetry will do to you, but I hope these poems give your evening an unexpected twist of sparkle and dust.
Until the cold dead wind calls us into winter, make love to the fall for as long as you can.
James H Duncan
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