"Low clouds and gray, cold and spitting snow . . .
the geese going over low all morning,
Their frantic cries leaving fill me with a quiet joy.
The world gets emptier, more barren, and I more alone.
Stillness, O stillness, this deep calm of autumn, this
relinquishing, giving in, gray turning toward winter,
sweet melancholy, welcoming, opening, acceptance,
receiving, this embrace of the quiet and the dark."