April Is A Promise That May Is

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?

Nature Seems To Look After Her Own Only Up To A Certain Point; Beyond That They Are Supposed To Fend For Themselves.

Some People Are Like Ants. Give Them A Warm Day And A Piece Of Ground And They Start Digging. There The Similarity Ends. Ants Keepon Digging. Most People Don't. They Establish Contact With The Soil, Absorb So Much Vernal Vigor That They Can't Stay In One Place, And Desert The Fork Or Spade To See How The Rhubarb Is Coming And Whether The Asparagus Is Yet In Sight.

No Winter Lasts Forever; No Spring Skips Its Turn.

Year's End Is Neither An End Nor A Beginning But A Going On, With All The Wisdom That Experience Can Instill In Us.