From Miles Davis and John Coltrane:
I shall not be dancing naked in the fields, or widdershins at midnight around the church tower, or anywhere else for that matter. I will be out looking at the sunset and appreciating the changing of the seasons (anyone who doesn’t think summer’s over wasn’t standing with me in the local Giant Eagle parking lot at about 1300 today. Brrr. Bloody freezing. And wet with it).
Today is the start of the Harvest Festival season. One of my favorite times of year. God Bless, all:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum’d with that which it was nourish’d by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long–William Shakespeare
Yeah. Both the year (only 99 days left in it!) and I are getting old. But neither of us is dead yet:
See you–God Willing–in just under three months or so for the Solstice. (Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not dancing naked then, either.)
