A few yellowed ash leaves on the porch roof,
And so it begins,
The willow sheds on the driveway stones,
Some birds fly in flocks,
Elderberries ripen,
This the 3 p.m. of the year,
The earth has absorbed the most heat,
And we step through the berryfield
Staining our fingers as we go,
Feeding our souls
In the calm of the natural day
Under an untracked sky, the wind in our ears,
Finding our occasion in ourselves,
For the universe is built around us,
And we are central still.
— Dipping into Thoreau's mid-August journal entries, 1841-1855
