Year's end is neither an end nor a beginning but a going on, with all the wisdom that experience can instill in us.

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.

To know after absence the familiar street and road and village and house is to know again the satisfaction of home.

October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen. It is the distant hills once more in sight, and the enduring constellations above them once again.

Summer is a promissory note signed in June, its long days spent and gone before you know it, and due to be repaid next January.

No Winter lasts forever, no Spring skips its turn. April is a promise that May is bound to keep, and we know it.

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