"..that Country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger and midnights stay. That country composed of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on empty walks sound like rain..." RB
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
What A Loser!
My Good Friend Abigail Monroe just pointed out I’ve been leaving “comments” and not posting. I will correct that in the future.
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