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— Herman Melville"The dinner-hour is the summer of the day: full of sunshine, I grant; but not like the mellow autumn of supper."
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The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.
— Martha Ostenso
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Uneasily the leaves fall at this season, forgetting what to do or where to go; the red amnesiacs of autumn drifting thru the graveyard forest. What they have forgotten they have forgotten: what they meant to do instead of fall is not in earth or time recoverable the fossils of intention, the shapes of rot.
— Al Purdy
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