This sense of lateness.
Now is the season of fruits,
but where is our fruit?
A sound reminds me --
Past autumns, lapse of time, so
little brought to pass.
August 18, 2016
A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality."
~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2015
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