Consider this a love letter to the month of October

Dear October,

Consider this a love letter.

Some say it is wrong to have favorites, but you leave me no choice.

You are the one.

The other months have their moments, of course, but they can turn on a moment’s notice to scour us with sand, scorch us with heat, pierce us with bitter cold.

You are consistent and gentle and oh, so glorious.

You seduce us with the fragrance of roasting green chiles and the intoxicating scent of campfires built from gnarled twists of mesquite and pinon.

You bring us the echoing sky songs of the returning sandhill cranes, and the music and dance of cottonwood leaves.

You gift us with crisp mountain apples and the last of the vine-ripened tomatoes, and remind us to slow down and feast on savory stews.

You lengthen the nighttime hours, cool the air, and encourage us shrug into warm sweaters and cradle hot mugs. You nudge us to aid in the annual ritual of unearthing quilts for their flights from closets to beds.

You paint our New Mexico skies a blue like no other.

In its long existence, the Crayola company has issued 19 shades of blue with names like cornflower, aquamarine, cerulean, denim, and wild blue yonder.

But none of those are quite your blue, October, the blue that was born to showcase golden aspens and crimson chile ristras, sun-splashed adobes and hot air balloons, ripe pumpkins and migrating Monarch butterflies.

If we have one complaint, it is this: Your visits are too short and too far apart.

How do I love thee, October?

Let me count and count and count the ways.

Betty Williamson is smitten. Reach her at:

[email protected]