Here in the exclusive Boyle compound things are heating up and cooling down. I had to start my woodstove this evening as they are calling for a killing frost tonight for areas of Western NY inland from Lake Erie. Here in beautiful down town Stedman where even the roosters are high class we took in some sun this afternoon but as soon as the orb lowered on the horizon it got mighty nippy. Don't put your tongue on the steel pasture gate tonight, folks and take an arm load of kindling in when you go.
"The crocuses and the larch turning green every year a week before the others
and the pastures red with uneaten sheep's placentas and the long summer days
and the newmown hay and the wood pigeon in the morning and the cuckoo in
the afternoon and the corncrake in the evening and the wasps in the jam and the
smell of grose and the look of the gorse and the apples falling and the children
walking in the dead leaves and the larch turning brown a week before the others
and the chestnuts falling and the howling winds and the sea breaking over the
pier and the first fires and the hooves on the road and the consumptive postman
whistling "The Roses are Blooming in Picardy" and the standard oil-lamp and of
course the snow and to be sure the sleet and bless your heart the slush and
every fourth year the February debacle and the endless April showers and the
crocuses and then the whole bloody business starting all over again."
-Samuel Beckett, Watt
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