“September has come, it is hers
Whose vitality leaps in the autumn,
Whose nature prefers
Trees without leaves and a fire in the fireplace.
So I give her this month and the next
Though the whole of my year should be hers who has rendered already
So many of its days intolerable or perplexed
But so many more so happy.
Who has left a scent on my life, and left my walls
Dancing over and over with her shadow
Whose hair is twined in all my waterfalls
And all of London littered with remembered kisses.”
― Louis MacNeice, Autumn Journal
I am getting older now, and I find that my love of what has completely satisfied me, filled me to the brim, continues to do so, and I often think that I should force myself to reach out to new things, in order to stay young. But what does youth matter? I have plans for the future, and I deserve my nostalgia for the past as I prepare to move forward into the plains of the soul.