3 Nov 07

Nov 03 2007

A haze on the far horizon,

  The infinite, tender sky,

The ripe, rich tint of the cornfields,

  And the wild geese sailing high;

And all over upland and lowland

  The charm of the golden-rod, —

Some of us call it Autumn,

  And others call it God.

              — W.H. Carruth

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