Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.

A woodland in full color is awesome as a forest fire, in magnitude at least, but a single tree is like a dancing tongue of flame to warm the heart.

All walking is discovery. On foot we take the time to see things whole.

Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color and a time of maturity; but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that reach to the far horizon?

There are some things, but not too many, toward which the countryman knows he must be properly respectful if he would avoid pain, sickness and injury. Nature is neither punitive nor solicitous, but she has thorns and fangs as wells as bowers and grassy banks.

Nature seems to look after her own only up to a certain point; beyond that they are supposed to fend for themselves.

April is a promise that May is bound to keep.