"The cool and sparkling days of late September flow like golden wine into the bowl of autumn. I cannot have enough of each day; I try to measure the minutes sparingly, for this is the time of enchantment. The leaves are turning, and I wonder whether I ever saw them before, for the colors are a new miracle of blended tones. Surely this year it is a lovelier autumn; the maples have a clearer fire, the oaks are a richer burgundy. And the goldenrod - was it Thoreau who called it spilled sunshine? The wild asters break their purple waves over the old stone fences. The upland meadows are beautiful, a brown suffused with gold."