Farewell, fair Summer. Autumn, I welcome you as a brother.

The other day I was picnicking solitarily by the stream that runs through the estate, and I must confess that I shed a tear upon seeing a tree shed a leaf. Oft times I see my soul thus reflected in Nature's furnishings, and the semblance is never stronger than in the autumn time. Summer is a youthful maid; Autumn is my brother.

Ah! fair Summer, thy lover shall miss thee and thy sweet kisses. He knows that, though we shall sport occasionally in the coming weeks, it is but a transient affair and that thou art on thy way to a well-deserved rest in the underworld (incidentally, fair Reader, I watched the film "Pan's Labyrinth" the other day and enjoyed it immensely).

Autumn interrupts our final lovemaking with a knock on the door. In frustration I greet him and his inevitable arrival. In an open robe, I open the door; he looks like me. We are slightly past our prime. He whispers in my ear: "We shall only get worse."

Summer, I say goodbye with a kiss of sorrow. You whisper "carpe diem," but I can seize nothing but the dust in the air.

Autumn, I welcome you with a firm handshake.

I shall dress in an ashen grey till this mood pass.