Forever Autumn
Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
Autumn, the year’s last, loveliest smile.
The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather’d up gold, And now he is dying….. Old age, begin sighing!
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.
The spring, the summer, the chill autumn, angry winter, change their wonted liveries.
Change is a measure of time and, in the autumn, time seems speeded up. What was is not and never again will be; what is is change.
The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools.
Every leaf speaks bliss to me, fluttering from the autumn tree.
The foliage has been losing its freshness through the month of August, and here and there a yellow leaf shows itself like the first gray hair amidst the locks of a beauty who has seen one season too many.
Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter.
Beauty for some provides escape, who gain a happiness in eyeing the gorgeous buttocks of the ape or Autumn sunsetsexquisitely dying.
October is a symphony of permanence and change.
