“Just before the death of flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There comes a festival season
When nature is all aglow.”
– Author Unknown

It was a shock yesterday when I had to fill in a form and realised it was October. I was filling in a form to get a library card in our local library and was forced to think about what date it was, forced to remember what month we are in. The library is a small one, one of the last few to exist. Some day soon a civil servant will probably think it is a good idea to close it and save money. It will save money to close it. While they are at it they might as well close them all, burn the books and close the schools. Think of the money they will save.

So, October crept up on me. This is the month of cold golden sun. The month of wind and rain. This is the month that is the last in the old Irish year. The lovely Sharon and I went for a short walk  last night. The walk was a little fresh air to ensure we did not lose our house bound sanity. We were joined by our new family member; the little man. He seemed to enjoy his first ever adventure into the outside world. We have not the experience or parenting skills to know his opinion of the trip, but we assume from his wide eyes and occasional squeaks that he approved.

“The leaves fall patiently
Nothing remembers or grieves
The river takes to the sea
The yellow drift of leaves.”
– Sara Teasdale

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