And what a night it is... The fall has crashed without
warning, and with such might that I fear winter must not be
far behind it.
The occasional drizzle brings a wonderful gloom to an
evening gust of air, which puts all fans back in their
closets with shame.
A swallow blows his enchanted whistle in one last autumn
symphony, before he deposits his head unto the safe
sanctuary of his wings.
And as rekindled genes of hibernation make my eyes heavy,
and stir intense emotions of total comfort and ease, and as
I take cover in my modern lair, on wood and springs and
under feathers, just minutes before I devote myself to a
well earned night's cuddle, I can't help but wonder to
myself how wonderful life is, arcane though rhythmic as they
are, how glorious is the music that they make, and how
mind-bogglingly great it would be, to have a one way plane
ticket to the sweaty mystifying rowdy almost devious summer
of Brazil.