The eponymous vagabond wanders the highways and byways of the countryside all year round and in all weather conditions. It's a hard life, but the vagabond greatly appreciates the freedom that it gives him out there in the open air. The seasons come and go, and although they have a very powerful effect upon the surrounding natural world, they make no difference whatsoever to the vagabond. So long as he has the open sky above him and the open road beneath his feet, he'll be happy.
When autumn comes, it invariably starts to get quite cold. At this time of year, the beautiful sound of birdsong is heard no more; it isn't mating season, and many birds have migrated to warmer climes. The cold weather doesn't just affect birds, either: it affects the humans, too. Freezing cold bites into your fingers, turning them blue.
And yet, despite this, the vagabond insists that he will not yield to autumn—nor winter, either, for that matter. It's as if he's in the natural world but not quite of it. Caught between the human society that he's rejected and the natural environment where he wanders, the vagabond doesn't really belong anywhere. This is what makes him almost immune to the autumn cold that silences birds in the trees and bites deep into icy blue fingers.