autumn arrival Quotes

Autumn arrives in the early morning.

Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure.

Lord, it is time. The summer was very big. Lay thy shadow on the sundials, and on the meadows let the winds go loose. Command the last fruits that they shall be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them on to fulfillment and drive the last sweetiness into the heavenly wine.

Summer passes into autumn in some unimaginable point of time, like the turning of a leaf.

When autumn comes, it doesn't ask. It just walks in, where it left you last. And you never know, when it starts; until there's fog inside the glass around your summer heart.

But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.

You will come home before the leaves have fallen from the trees.

We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer's wreckage. We will welcome summer's ghost.

Alas, summer sun can't last forever. The days will grow cooler and shorter, and our skin will once again pale.

This was one of those perfect New England days in late summer where the spirit of autumn takes a first stealing flight, like a spy, through the ripening country-side, and, with feigned sympathy for those who droop with August heat, puts her cool cloak of bracing air about leaf and flower and human shoulders.

Behold congenial Autumn comes, the Sabbath of the Year.

Soon the cold would force them inside, so they clutched at lost summer.

Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows, and all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone. I already hear the dead thuds of logs below falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple.

Through the dripping weeks that follow One another slow, and soak Summer's extinguished fire and autumn's drifting smoke.

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.

For summer there, bear in mind, is a loitering gossip, that only begins to talk of leaving when September rises to go.