First leaves begin to fall, as does imperfect fruit,
These lines, for example, rushed to fruition.
Better I should work with planetary dignity,
Moving like a wooden boat on a sluggish creek
In this thoughtful season, its cooler nights
Condensing dews and clearing the atmosphere,
Attending to a certain fertile sadness
I would not avoid, but seek.
—following Thoroeau's lead, August, 1851
