A somber meditation on the end of the growing season when the passing away of life is in the air and the veil between the worlds grows thin. A slightly bitter introspection of smouldering fire, tannic oakwood, raw whiskey, and smoky cedar.
"When the leaves, by thousands thinned,
A thousand times have whirled in the wind,
And the moon, with hollow cheek,
Staring from her hollow height,
Consolation seems to seek
From the dim, reechoing night;
And the fog-streaks dead and white
Lie like ghosts of lost delight
O’er highest earth and lowest sky;
Then, Autumn, work thy witchery!"
-- George Parsons Lathrop
Art: The Semnones' Grove of Fetters by Emil Doepler, 1905