I just want to say a few words about October, the eighth month of the year, at least by Roman reckoning, and the tenth and most beautiful and wonderful by the reckoning of a later age. October foliage setting the woods ablaze, crisp air resounding to the sound of football played with rough abandon, apple cider and hay rides with a pretty girl, Hallowe’en and mischief night for the kids and those of us still kids at heart. October, summer’s end but not yet winter. Enjoy the golden wonder that is October, for each is granted only so many, and when they are done they are done.

October football, pretty girls
Falling leaves and shining curls
The smell of wood smoke in the air
And sad that trees will soon be bare
But until then with golden blaze
The leaves turn red in mist borne haze
Tart apples ripened on the bough
And life is good for me and thou
Though not for those where vase is vahz
And not for those who live in Oz
Where they awake to springtime’s call
With naught to do, no bat, no ball