When it hurts, it's good to be reminded we're all capable of treason

I have just finished eating a bowl of homemade corn pudding (Indian pudding, make a hasty pudding with cornmeal and molasses and in my case goat's milk and then bake until either it sets in the middle or you can't stand waiting any longer) with pumpkin ice cream, which is probably the most autumnal, New England thing I am going to eat this season unless someone lets me near a cranberry bog. It was very satisfying and just as I was feeling pleased that neither cat had come to investigate, Autolycus woke up with his little detective hat on. The mystery is why, if a fresh carton of goat's milk was opened in this house, none of it was given to him. I have been feeding him kippers all day from my personal store, so his moral high ground has less guilt-weight than it might otherwise.

I am feeling somewhat overwhelmed by all the things I have not done this month, both in the sense of desire as well as obligation. Time seems to be moving faster than I can do anything with it, which I know is not a fair reading of the situation: I am not exactly suffering from a surfeit of unused free time which I am simply failing to make profitable use of, or whatever the latest version of the Protestant work ethic is supposed to sound like. It's wearisome; it's not new. I may be mourning the loss of autumn even more than summer. Summer we were braced for; autumn is a theft. Not enough ocean. Not enough trees. Not enough walking in the wind.

In case you have not seen that Tom Lehrer has placed all of his lyrics in the public domain, he has and I think it's cool. There are songs on that site I've never even heard.