Be Fallen

Landscapes, Zhang Feng - Chinese artist, dated 1644.

We lingered in the warm winds and sunshine for too long. Summer persisted despite the date on the calendar. The moon foretold us that autumn was here, but the Earth did not listen, until suddenly, we fell into fall like a comedic turn out of a hammock. We should have seen it coming, clearer than the morning mist. We were warned of the arrival of the coming season, but were distracted by the departure of another. Following Summer's reign, the sun did wane, with withering skies came cold rain, until Autumn's footsteps could be heard. The omens of fall were evident, abundant and all around us just as we know from aphorisms of old, here the signs of autumn were foretold:

The Basil Harvest.

Each year as summer ends and autumn creeps, we wonder how much more the basil bush can bear. Should we allow a night-shivered herb to bask and warm in the day or should we shed the plant of its herbal leaves to be mashed with oils, nuts and cheese, to be frozen and used as we please? Or let it stand another day?

When the donning of the socks and cardigans has occurred.

The morning, brisk and breezy, suggests another layer or three-zy. Socks are a must unless you just, would like to suggest to us, how, without a fuss, we might from the cold keep our toes?

Staring hard at the thermostat in deliberation of tinkering with the settings is no longer a pass time but your entire purpose.

This distraction is similar to an addiction to social media except in this instance, you don't care what anyone else thinks, and you hope nothing changes. For if a digit were to flicker to a lowering temperature, then someone must take action, but no action shall be taken to shift a number that ought not to have been shifted at all.

Plaid flannel apparelling is upon us.

The reader should now know that the author has recently acquired his fourth red and black plaid flannel shirt. This curse upon him leaves him blind to his affliction until when the robin next returns, when he then will enquire, "Why do I have so much flannel attire?"

The storage of the sacred sandals and summer footwear.

It has passed that when light footwear has no more been worn within a fortnight, then as decreed, all such footwear must be removed from their currently convenient location within the entrance foyer, and be delivered to the bedroom closet and retrieved from that place, all common sensical walking shoes and boots will be furthermore seconded to the aforementioned foyer.

The clothing migration.

The migration of shorts, linen and beachwear has begun from the lowest drawer in the dresser to the lowest of boxes within the closet. From hence, that same box, thick socks and undergarments of varying heft will follow the return bedroom current to that very same dresser drawer.

Pre-winter wintering.

The emptying of the soil from containers particularly those of clay and those containing plants who do slumber. There should also be a bringing forth the water hose before frost has split its seams asunder.

Winter Beard has Begun.

Like so many religious brethren and occasional sister, no hair upon one’s face, chin or cheek shall be trimmed, cut, shaved or plucked. A hardy extension of the beard down the neck will ensure a good closure and connection between skin and scarf. A brief period of itchiness, so much less so than Job’s lament, is to be expected and embraced. If you are mistaken as a woodsman during this time, then you will have achieved the desired level of beardedness. It is said Benedictines would grow their beards until they were entangled with the hair of the nipples. Auxiliary notation: no living creature who has taken shelter or sleep in thine beard shall be disturbed, evicted or unhoused until the robin’s next return. All lifeless things may be combed from thine beard within discretion of the wearer.

Hunter’s Moon has passed, let us now accept our increasingly cooler fate, until the robin next returns.