The Bible speaks of birds and lilies, the necessity of minding wilder things. Consider, then, the light trickling over the eastern rim, tracing honeyed fingers across the shorn fields, lifting starshine eyes to feathered song. Observe how it lingers mid-morning, then surges, wavering mouth gobbling up the land, interrupted only by cotton clouds and planes and, later, as the afternoon yawns, note the embrace of diffuse beams open-handed and beckoning. Then even

A reflection on the month of October.

"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet Are of imagination all compact." William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream When Theseus says these words to Hippolyta in the play at his wedding, he is tolerating her reaction to the strange romantic doings of the human and ethereal spirits in the woods. I like to think the lines apply to all of us who find July a time to moon gaze at night, read entertaining novels in the afternoon