It's the October whirling, it's terror clawing, crawling, up the steps.

Begging, sighing, or groaning, they all rise in unison for October.

The wind grabbed the hands of the trees— they raced downstairs to get wood.

Snow falls from their knees as they enter the store—It's been so long since we've met!

Did the snow, so often trampled, scatter from hooves like cocaine?