The Autumn And The Fall Of Leaves

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The leaves are hardly heard, but they are heard just
so much that men also, who are destined at the end to grow glorious and to die,
look up and hear them falling.

There is an infinite amount of qualities of describing the leaves. The
color is not a mere glory: it is intricate. If you take up one leaf, then you
can see the sharp edge boundaries which are stained with a deep yellow-gold and
are not defined. Nor do shape and definition ever begin to exhaust the list.
For there are softness and hardness too. Beside boundaries you have hues and
tints, shades also, varying thicknesses of stuff, and endless choice of surface,
and that list also is infinite, and the divisions of each item in it are
everywhere the depth and the meaning of so much creation are beyond our powers.
All this happens to be true of but one dead leaf; and yet every dead leaf will
differ from its fellow.

It is no wonder, then, that at this peculiar time, this week (or moment)
of the year, the desires ...

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