Long cold nights mark November's return, grey rains fall, wind walks in the bronze oak leaves.
I suppose I am a sparrow, a stay-at-home bird.
June in New England is like a lover's dream made tangible.
The real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance.
My general attitude toward life when I first get up is of deep suspicion, verging on hatred. ... I am simply basted together until after breakfast.
Perhaps what makes friendship and love exciting is the continuing discovery of another personality.