Robert Robus on autumn

The only thing more beautiful than thy golden locks, dear Autumn, is the resplendent mane of my female attendant, Ayvana.
--Robert Robus

I walked out into the lane this morning; it was silent. The seven-'o-clock sunlight dappled the flaming canopy: the maples blushing red, the ashes afire with yellow, the oaks chestnut; and, as I espied a lone squirrel collecting nuts for the impending freeze, the notion found its way into my mind to gather my thoughts together (not unlike a bundle of wood) on this, an autumn day.

My mind was filled with deep and profound thoughts, which, like still water, are at the same time both precious (in all their lucid reflectivity), and easily disturbed. But the scene was still: the sky was clear; the breeze blew but in imperceptible puffs; the wild turkeys that habitually swarm and peck at me were quiescent; and the only sound was the distant cawing of a crow, which rang across the miles like the sugared song of a soprano.

I thought: O Jove, let this resplendent calm be everlasting.

At precisely that moment, five tattooed, leather-jacket-clad bikers roared down the highway, shouting phrases which would make Paris Hilton blush but to contemplate, and packing dames clad in such a manner as to make Christina Aguilera appear prim. Then, a sixteen-wheeler that housed a traveling circus passed by; the elephants trumpeted, the trapeze artists screamed, and a plethora of low firecrackers exploded into the air.

Then, just as I was washing the last of the horse excrement from my loafers, metal band Decibellia Kroncher drove by in their tour bus, turning up their amps to an obscene degree, and soon afterward striking a monstrous chord. The metal bus expanded like a waterlogged peanut; its windows burst; and, according to MSNBS (as well as certain other more demotic sources), the impact registered 9.3 on the Richter scale, and burst 962 piñatas.

And then I, Robert Robus, picked myself up from the location in which I had fallen in the lane, dusted myself off, and shouted:

"Ayvana, bring me thy tresses!"

Ayvana, of course, quickly appeared, and let me run my fingers through them plethorially.