At last the real fall is here. The temperature is set to fall to 12 tomorrow. I don't feel easy with the Indian summer. It makes me feel that the summer is hanging on, like an unwanted lover, unwilling to give way to the essence of the fall, the serious business of dying, or, at least, hibernation. But tomorrow it will be properly cold. No more cavorting on the beach within sight of the fall colours. And roll on my favourite month of the year: chilly, fresh aired, usually sunny November. Ah the sheer scorpiophonic splendour of it all.
I CAUGHT this morning morning’s minion, king-dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing, As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!
I used to know this by heart, but sadly had to go and look it up.