The Spirit of Snaptember.

Dear reader, have you not, since the drying of the winter rains, noticed in the gluey dawn, a certain feverishness about Nature's small-goods in your immediate proximity? Have you not yourself experienced a sensation of reckless abandon, provocative of goose-flesh on the wave lengths, a glugging of the glottis, and a buzziness in the head?

Have you not, during your matutinal egg-and-spoon race with “Baby Ben,” detected a certain jazzical jocundity, a sort of rhapsody about the flora and fauna around your domiciliary woodpile?

Have you not noticed your soul expanding like a sea-soaked doughnut, at the sights and sounds, the flights and bounds, of that delirious dame called Nature?