Heard a crashing in the brush, then a splashing in the stream, it’s a September bear, cuz that’s when they are there, and in the stream maybe flows a dream, in the ripples, in the sunlight’s gleam, like the water, moving past rock and boulder, every moment I get older, moving on, never stopping, September’s not a stop, leaves only begun to drop, it’s part of the flow, sometimes it’s where I am now, sometimes it’s where I’ve been, sometimes where I want to go, like the stream I’ve happened upon, always moving along, always new water coming on, September can feel like a pause, seeming to sit still, between two seasons like between valley and hill, but, September’s not a stop, it’s moving on, leaving me waiting for October leaves to drop.