Quotes About Seasons

August briefly tried that on for size. Wondered if he longed for summer because summer made it so much easier to breathe.

Autumn has a hungry heart - September is the beginning of death.

In a very real way, television is the new mythos. It defines the world, reinterprets it. The seasons do not change because Persephone goes underground. They change because new episodes air, because sweeps week demands conflagrations and ritual deaths. The television series rises slowly, arcs, descends into hiatus, and rises again with the bright, burning autumn.

My master lit a candle in the long midwinter's past Now summer comes and all the fields are burning black and fast.

The island cried out to me. I longed to feast my senses on its light and air, and restore my spirit with its peace. If I answered its call, soon enough I would live again in the familiar rhythms of its seasons—the wincing winters and dappled summers, its shy, reluctant springtide and gleaming, bronzed leaf fall.

Green Christmas, white Easter

The flowers of late winter and early spring occupy places in our hearts well out of proportion to their size.

El invierno del trópico es época primaveral. Lo que se planta, crece aceleradamente. Las semillas excitadas por el repique de la lluvia constante sobre la tierra se ablandan y germinan bebiendo de las correntadas los nutrientes de la vegetación que el viento del verano depositó en la superficie y tornó en abono. Managua es una ciudad que se inunda en el invierno".

NOVEMBRE Gemmea l'aria, il sole così chiaro che tu ricerchi gli albicocchi in fiore, e del prunalbo l'odorino amaro senti nel cuore... Ma secco è il pruno, e le stecchite piante di nere trame segnano il sereno, e vuoto il cielo, e cavo al piè sonante sembra il terreno. Silenzio, intorno: solo, alle ventate, odi lontano, da giardini ed orti, di foglie un cader fragile. È l'estate, fredda, dei morti.

Si sta come d'autunno sugli alberi le foglie.

Long before all these divisions were opened between home and the road, betweens a woman's place and a man's world, humans followed the crops, the seasons, traveling with their families, our companions, animals, our tents. We built campfires and moved from place to place. This way of traveling is still in our cellular memory. Living things have evolved as travelers, Even migrating birds know that nature doesn't demand a choice between nesting and flight.

I can go on the road - because I can come home. I come home - because I'm free to leave. Each way of being is more valued in the presence of the other. This balance between making camp and following the seasons is both very ancient and very new. We all need both.

I can go on the road - and I can come home. I come home - because I'm free to leave. Each way of being is more valued int he presence of the other. This balance between making camp and following the seasons is both very ancient and very new. We all need both.

Listening to these stories reminded me of the words of the great Ghanaian novelist Ayi Kwei Armah: "For seasons and seasons and seasons, all our movement has been going against our self, a journey into our killer's desire.

Just as there was a day every spring when the women of the town, as though by some secret signal, appeared in their summer dresses before the first heat was felt, there was as well a day when winter showed the knife before the first laceration.

Then autumn comes, with its first flush of youth gone, but ripe and mellow, midway in time between youth and age, with sprinkled grey showing on the temples.

Where did the time go? Yesterday, I was a girl, and today, I suddenly find myself in the autumn of my years with the cold winds of winter breathing down my neck.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away...

The change always comes about mid-August, and it always catches me by surprise. I mean the day when I know that summer is fraying at the edges, that September isn't far off and fall is just over the hill or up the valley.

Besides the autumn poets sing, A few prosaic days A little this side of the snow And that side of the haze...

There are two times of year: autumn and waiting for autumn.

...the world reveals itself in its true dimensions in the Autumn...

Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day! Every leaf speaks bliss to me, Fluttering from the autumn tree...

Autumn breathes in golden sunshine and breathes out a frosty chill.