O Hushed October morning mild

Robert Frost begins a poem about this month, "O Hushed October morning mild" just as today began in the city, with a pearly gray sky and the gentle coolness we've been waiting for. 

The new season arrives humble, reverent, with head bent and arms out-stretched. The Earth is surrendering its bounty selflessly, asking nothing in return from us, as it sinks into its season of quiet stillness. There's something about this vulnerable season of change that calls on us all to be nurturing stewards to preserve Earth's offerings. To cherish the last wisps of warmth and light, to send the summer off with a fond farewell, watching until the sun has set. 

The October Calendar Girl, did not begin her morning in New York City, but I'm sure she too felt the hushed chill on the morning mist hovering above the vines as she set out to harvest wine grapes, dressed in a vintage Pucci gown. A Bacchanalian nymph, prepared to usher the fruits of summer's labor on to begin their metamorphosis into an elixir of merriment hearty enough to warm us through the darkest parts of the months that wait beyond October's golden glow. 

She winds further and further through the rows of vines, lost amidst the ripened beauty, paying no mind to being barefoot with cool earth beneath her feet. Enchanted by the season of change, willing this day poised between summer and winter to stretch on forever, knowing that partly why it feels so delicious is just how fleeting it is. At any moment the first fiery red leaf will shudder on his branch and break free. 

"Beguile us in the way you know, release one leaf at break of day"