Welcome one and all to the sixty fifth volume of the Areopagus. How suddenly the nights seem to have drawn in and the air grown so much colder after twilight! But I shouldn't be surprised, for October is here... and yet it still surprises me every year as one season melts imperceptibly into another.
A springful of larks in a rolling
Cloud and the roadside bushes brimming with whistling
Blackbirds and the sun of October
Summery
On the hill's shoulder,
Here were fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened
To the rain wringing
Wind blow cold
In the wood faraway under me.
That was a stanza from Poem in October by the inimitable Dylan Thomas. If you have trouble following him word for word, fear not, for Thomas is usually rather hard to grasp. But in his winding and somewhat obscure lines I inevitably find myself delighted.
Alas, enough introductory prattling! Not so many weeks ago I asked you about ancient mythology. Your answers got me thinking about th…
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