autumn

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

Autumn's the mellow time.

I saw old Autumn in the misty morn stand shadowless like silence, listening to silence.

Unless a tree has borne blossoms in spring, you will vainly look for fruit on it in autumn.

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.

I think now that I'm in the autumn of my life, and I'm getting a chance of having an overview and looking at the shape of how things happen, when things happen, why things happen, I think it was fitting that I spent most of my early career doing mask work, because I just don't think I was that comfortable in my own skin.

If you look around, complacency is the great disease of your autumn years, and I work hard to prevent that.

We cling to our own point of view, as though everything depended on it. Yet our opinions have no permanence; like autumn and winter, they gradually pass away.

The garden of love is green without limit and yields many fruits other than sorrow or joy. Love is beyond either condition: without spring, without autumn, it is always fresh.

I also hear your president say that war is the means of last resort and I think he means that. I met him last autumn and he assured me that they wanted to come through and disarm Iraq by peaceful means, and that's what we are trying to do as hard as we can.

I am saying that in Wales here we have a very clear election commitment and I hope, and I will express this view, I hope that every individual member of the Labour Party, will understand that and will strive to achieve unity so that we can deliver the yes vote in the Autumn.

The year's in the wane There is nothing adoring The night has no eve And the day has no morning Cold winter gives warning!

The melancholy days have come the saddest of the year Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.

O it sets my heart a clickin' like the tickin' of a clock When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

When they turned off, it was still early in the pink and green fields. The fumes of morning, sweet and bitter, sprang up where they walked. The insects ticked softly, their strength in reserve; butterflies chopped the air, going to the east, and the birds flew carelessly and sang by fits.They went down again and soon the smell of the river spread over the woods, cool and secret. Every step they took among the great walls of vines and among the passion-flowers started up a little life, a little flight.'We__e walking along in the changing-time,' said Doc. 'Any day now the change will come. It__ going to turn from hot to cold, and we can kill the hog that__ ripe and have fresh meat to eat. Come one of these nights and we can wander down here and tree a nice possum. Old Jack Frost will be pinching things up. Old Mr. Winter will be standing in the door. Hickory tree there will be yellow. Sweet-gum red, hickory yellow, dogwood red, sycamore yellow.' He went along rapping the tree trunks with his knuckle. 'Magnolia and live-oak never die. Remember that. Persimmons will all get fit to eat, and the nuts will be dropping like rain all through the woods here. And run, little quail, run, for we__l be after you too.'They went on and suddenly the woods opened upon light, and they had reached the river. Everyone stopped, but Doc talked on ahead as though nothing had happened. 'Only today,' he said, 'today, in October sun, it__ all gold__ky and tree and water. Everything just before it changes looks to be made of gold.'("The Wide Net")

Autumn has come to northeast Montana. The vapor of one__ breath, the clarity of the stars, the smell of wood smoke, the stones underfoot that even a full day of sunlight won__ warm- these all say there will be no more days that can be mistaken for summer.

In September countless sand and house-martins jazz above the river, taking insects from the surface, from the air, thousands of birds kissing the river farewell. They creak, a sound like the air rubbing against itself. Summer is everything they know; they're preparing themselves, sensing in the shortening days a door they must dash through before it shuts.