October is such a regal month, its golden leaves the color of kings, its early snow crowning the mountain tops with glory.
His sports are festivities for royal olympiads, the days beginning with chilly morning country races, giving way to sun warmed football fights and finishing with a cold evening’s sacred baseball.
His dark, declining days lend themselves to the strategizing of kings who take the candle lit evenings to debate with friends and foes about the items of diplomacy and economy.
October’s apples, too, are fruit fit for throne rooms, jonagolds the jesters, honeycrisps the princes and pink ladies for princesses, of course. They are surrounded by Braeburns, Jonathans, Ambrosia ‘s and Idared’s, willing and suitable servants and advisers.
Pumpkins too are for royals feasts along with all the other squash kinds. They are the produce of the domain, a splendor even before consumed, their yield bountiful enough to feed armies.
But October the King’s crown jewel, his reigning attribute, his most prized accomplishment is November, his queen.
There she sits by him, teasing the Pink Lady and smiling at her Honeycrisp as she enjoys the splendor of festivities, rolling her eyes at the advice and aid of His Majesty’s Royal braeburns while feasting on the prized squash.
The air about her is more delicate and deliberative. Her darker days increase her stature and her more constant chill lends herself to those in aid. She exudes more grace and gratitude as her train gives way to holy-days.
The King is dead, long live the Queen!