September is one of those turning months for those of us who claim territory in the degrees north of the Tropic of Cancer. The more eccentric amongst us love September because it heralds cold and January and stuff like skiing. Woolly hats, socks and even crueler impediments. Others wonder way it was, that our species ever ventured further than about a thousand miles north or south of the Equator.
But this year of 2013 and into what remains of my future, I will not vouchsafe
the psalms of Spring and Summer. Too much of my time spent moaning in the Hippo
Wallow. And as the Weather Man becomes all excited by the prospect of
"chill," the possibilities of "colder than average winter" and "thunder snow,"
I will remain silent.