Fall Almanac 3

It's all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.

Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught 'em;
There's nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.
From "Merry Autumn"--Paul Lawrence Dunbar


..an excerpt from a longer poem. Dunbar looks at Autumn as a merry time, critiquing the literary convention for this season. The full poem is reposted below.

Summer makes a brief return, but very cool nights make of perfect mornings and late evenings. There seems to be a pretty big spread between the highs and lows this week, but it looks like a front came through at midweek.

The climate data says we recieved a half-inch of rain last week, and, though not noted here, fog during the morning hours during the last three days of the week (probably in low lying areas like river and creek bottoms). Dew on the windshield.
More explanation on the overcast scale. The numbers are 10ths. For example, a 1 indicates 1/10th overcast during that day, which means indvidual clouds, nearly all clear sky. 9 is 9/10ths cloud cover, or nearly all cloudy.

Now, the full Dunbar poem:

It's all a farce,—these tales they tell
About the breezes sighing,
And moans astir o'er field and dell,
Because the year is dying.

Such principles are most absurd,—
I care not who first taught 'em;
There's nothing known to beast or bird
To make a solemn autumn.

In solemn times, when grief holds sway
With countenance distressing,
You'll note the more of black and gray
Will then be used in dressing.

Now purple tints are all around;
The sky is blue and mellow;
And e'en the grasses turn the ground
From modest green to yellow.

The seed burs all with laughter crack
On featherweed and jimson;
And leaves that should be dressed in black
Are all decked out in crimson.

A butterfly goes winging by;
A singing bird comes after;
And Nature, all from earth to sky,
Is bubbling o'er with laughter.

The ripples wimple on the rills,
Like sparkling little lasses;
The sunlight runs along the hills,
And laughs among the grasses.

The earth is just so full of fun
It really can't contain it;
And streams of mirth so freely run
The heavens seem to rain it.

Don't talk to me of solemn days
In autumn's time of splendor,
Because the sun shows fewer rays,
And these grow slant and slender.

Why, it's the climax of the year,—
The highest time of living!—
Till naturally its bursting cheer
Just melts into thanksgiving.