In nature’s cycle, death is renewal: harvest passed, larder stocked, quiet land now still in the tenebrous gloaming. The wood gatherer, through dank mists & wispy bonfire, tugs his collar against the mouldy chill of the forest floor, rustling shades of decay — feuille-morte, nature’s rust — the harbinger of hibernation. This equinoctial arrangement of Single Farm Origins, composted by Head Distiller Ned, is for hunkering down with over the early darkness.