The cool autumn air is chasing out
The heat of summer; the creation gladly
Rests therein. Crickets fill the nighttime
With their gentle chirping. The fruits of the earth
Ripen, gathered in by man and beast alike.
In this ninth month of the year, in September,
On the ninth day – a mystical number,
Denoting the ranks of the angelic hosts –
A harvest of holiness was garnered
Gladly from the Church of the Western Lands:
Ciaran the wonderful monk of Ireland,
Who died at thirty-three, like his Master;
Wulfhild, loving mother of English nuns;
. . .
The rest is at https://www.newenglishreview.org/articles/septembers-harvest/.
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Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!
Anathema to the Union!
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