Consider the wheelbarrow. It may lack the grace of an airplane, the speed of an automobile, the initial capacity of a freight car, but its humble wheel marked out the path of what civilization we still have.

Catch a vista of maples in that long light and you see Autumn glowing through the leaves.... The promise of gold and crimson is there among the branches, though as yet it is achieved on only a stray branch, an impatient limb or an occasional small tree which has not yet learned to time its changes.

Two sounds of autumn are unmistakable...the hurrying rustle of crisp leaves blown along the street...by a gusty wind, and the gabble of a flock of migrating geese.

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

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

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

For the Fall of the year is more than three months bounded by an equinox and a solstice. It is a summing up without the finality of year's end.