32 Octobers
a poem about the long path to healing
Read, watch, listen along. (I’m trying out some new ways of reading and recording.)
32 Octobers ©Rebecca Wilson, October 2025 walking along the river she gently brushes my shoulder surely, it’s too warm my heart is too light for it to really be October I stop to greet her she’s already ahead resting on the rock feet in the water soaking up the last drops of sun a brightness usually reserved for summer before its setting turns the horizon harvest red I wonder is our pain subsiding am I finally forgetting the deaths we watched the lives we lost all the ways we broke together fell into a grief made slumber she answers the difference is our remembering listen when you speak about it now there is peace on your lips color has returned to your face your hands do not tremble eyes no longer starless like the sky that night we wandered off liminality opens up our arrival Water-fully Yours, Rebecca & 10CAMELS
Invitation to Reflect
What is your experience of October?
Does it feel like an end or a beginning? An in-between?
If you live in a place where the signs of changing seasons aren’t painted on the trees, how do you know autumn is fading?
What time limits have you set on grief?
Where are you seeking healing?
This Friday is Halloween. It’s also our October Friday Field Trip for paid subscribers to Wednesdays at the Well. Become a paid subscriber or upgrade your subscription today to save your seat on the bus. We’ve got a ghostly poem you don’t want to miss.
I appreciate how the seasons and natural world inform your writing Our Writers Group met last week and shared Fall synergy, too. Here's a tidbit from, “The Bridge Over Going Street.” “The warm, unhurried compassion between detritus and nutrients // An elastic home given
only to those with purpose // Transforming what once was, into what has never been yet.” I appreciate your poem and how it helps me look deeper with gentle eyes on times past. I see that bird with feet in the water still able to fly, refreshed. Thank you!