Thomas Merton concretized a sentiment many of us share and have found ourselves unable to articulate: “October is a fine and dangerous season in America. It is dry and cool and the land is wild with red and gold and crimson, and all the lassitudes of August have seeped out of your blood, and you are full of ambition. It is a wonderful time to begin anything at all.”[1] When October returns I feel refreshed, sharpened, ready for action. Summer dulls the senses with its facile delights; autumn reawakens touch, taste, and smell to usher us into its sublunary sublimities.
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