From Gladys Taber's Stillmeadow Road

"Now in November, the leaves spread cloth of gold and red on the ground. The open fields take on a cinnamon tone and the wild blackbery canes in the swamp are frosted purple. The colors fade slowly to sober hues. The rain falls with a determination in long leaden lines, and when it stops water drips from the eaves.

The voice of the wind changes, for winds are seasonal too. Summer winds blow soft, musical with leaves, except for thunderstorms. Hurricane winds scream. In blizzard time the sleet-sharp gale has a crackling noise. But now the wind has a mournful sound, marking the rhythm of autumn's end. The first beat of winter is not yet here, and country folk tend to spend extra time doing chores or puttering, just to be out of doors.

Night is a vast dark sea with the moon a distant light in a mysterious harbor. Stillmeadow seems a small ship to be in such a limitless ocean, but how steadfast it looks under the tall spars of the giant maples! Light shines through the small-paned windows and I am extravagant enough to keep the house lighted all over just because it looks, to my eyes, so beautiful glowing in the dark.

So as I go in, I have a grateful heart. And as Thanksgiving Day nears, I feel a sense of hope - a hope that the world may find peace, perhaps in our time."

~ From the book, "The Stillmeadow Road" by Gladys Taber (1959)