October

The woods never look more beautiful than from the close of last month to the middle of October, for by that time it seems as if nature had exhausted all her choicest colours on the foliage. We see the rich, burnished bronze of the oak; red of many hues, up to the gaudiest scarlet; every shade of yellow from the wan gold of the primrose to the deep orange of the tiger lily.... and all so blended and softened together in parts, that like the colours on a dove's neck, we cannot tell where one begins and the other ends.

Anglo-Saxon names for October include Wynmonath ("wine month") and Winterfyllith (referring to a calendar in which the full moon of this month marked the beginning of winter). The Irish Gaelic name also makes premature reference to the changing of the seasons: Deireadh Fomhair means the "end of autumn"

Chambers Book of Days



October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
one from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow! For the grapes' sake,
if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the all.

Robert Frost