Autumn...the year's last, loveliest smile."

[Indian Summer]

Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.

The goldenrod is yellow,
The corn is turning brown...
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

The last dead leaves of fall crackled underfoot, winter-crisp.

October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!

The autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavement in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding walk, letting the motion of the wind and the leaves carry her forward. [...] The trees overhead made a great sound of letting down their dry rain.