Sue Hubbell Quotes

Our human calendars take little notice of such dates, but nighthawk migrations tell of shortening days and a season's end.

All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings. Wings beating low over the blue water of Silver Lake, wings beating high in the blue air far above it . . . bearing them all away to the green fields in the South.

Whither away, Bluebird, Whither away? The blast is chill, yet in the upper sky Thou still canst find the color of thy wing, The hue of May. Warbler, why speed, thy southern flight? ah, why, Thou, too, whose song first told us of the Spring? Whither away?

Fall is my favorite season in Los Angeles, watching the birds change color and fall from the trees.

Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.

...as the slow sea sucked at the shore and then withdrew, leaving the strip of seaweed bare and the shingle churned, the sea birds raced and ran upon the beaches. Then that same impulse to flight seized upon them too. Crying, whistling, calling, they skimmed the placid sea and left the shore. Make haste, make speed, hurry and begone; yet where, and to what purpose? The restless urge of autumn, unsatisfying, sad, had put a spell upon them and they must flock, and wheel, and cry; they must spill themselves of motion before winter came.

Autumn is full of leave-taking. In September the swallows are chattering of destination and departure like a crowd of tourists.

These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.

We flew back home like swallows. 'Is it happiness that makes us so light?' Agathe asked.

Most of the birds of the Old World can be found here, as Oman is on a strategic route for migrating birds.

Fall is my favorite my time of the year. I love it. I'll try and make it back to Vancouver a bunch. I love going back home for that. Everything turns orange. You start to get out of summer, start making your way into the winter, everyone is wearing jackets. Vancouver lights up in the fall, so I definitely go back there for a bit.

The annual flight of the dragonflies goes mostly unnoticed, though it is one of the great migrations of flying creatures that occur across North America.

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

You may depend on it that the bunting, emberiza miliaria, does not leave this country in the winter.

There is one thing I do miss in L.A. I love autumn.

Robin is one of the most native and democratic of our birds; he is one of the family, and seems much nearer to us than those rare, exotic visitants, as the orchard starling or rose-breasted grossbeak, with their distant, high-bred ways.

In October, a maple tree before your window lights up your room like a great lamp. Even on cloudy days, its presence helps to dispel the gloom.

Fall has always been my favorite season. The time when everything bursts with its last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.

She looked like autumn, when leaves turned and fruit ripened.

I love the fall. I love it because of the smells that you speak of; and also because things are dying, things that you don't have to take care of anymore, and the grass stops growing.

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

Farewell, farewell," said the swallow, with a heavy heart, as he left the warm countries, to fly back into Denmark. There he had a nest over the window of a house in which dwelt the writer of fairy tales. The swallow sang "Tweet, tweet," and from his song came the whole story.

Corn wind in the fall, come off the black lands, come off the whisper of the silk hangers, the lap of the flat spear leaves.