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Long cold nights mark November's return, grey rains fall, wind walks in the bronze oak leaves.

Gladys Taber

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Gladys Taber
Age: 80 †
Born: 1899
Born: April 12
Died: 1980
Died: March 11
Author
Writer
Colorado Springs
Colorado
Gladys Bagg Taber
Return
Bronze
Wind
Oaks
Cold
November
Walks
Nights
Fall
Grey
Night
Leaves
Long
Rain
Mark
Rains

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There is a kind of immortality in every garden.
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My general attitude toward life when I first get up is of deep suspicion, verging on hatred. ... I am simply basted together until after breakfast.
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the tentacles of today reach out like an octopus to swallow yesterday.
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The real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance.
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Father was the most unreconciled taxpayer I ever knew.
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The curious thing about fishing is you never want to go home. If you catch something, you can't stop. If you don't catch anything, you hate to leave in case something might bite.
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The creative instincts, the love force must be nourished with every beat of our hearts until they overbalance the destructive instincts.
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I cannot imagine a cat in an Obedience ring, running around in the hot sun and doing things on command. For it would not make sense. Whereas a dog is tolerant of your not making sense and only wants to fix things so you are happy.
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the real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance ... Days are no longer jagged peaks to climb time is a meadow, and we move over it with level steps.
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Pride may go before a fall, but jealousy goes before destruction.
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Life is a process of discovery, of new perceptions.
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November wind has a sound different from any other. It is easy to imagine the cave of the winds in some mythical Northland where the winds are born and the gods send them out to conquer the quiet air.
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Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.
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There must be hundreds of unsung heroes and heroines who first tasted strange things growing - and think of the man who first ate a lobster. This staggers the imagination. I salute him every time I take my nutcracker in hand and move the melted-butter pipkin closer.
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Happiness is a thing of now.
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We need time to dream, time to remember, and time to reach the infinite. Time to be.
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History records the large events or the general condition of society, but only an individual can put down the way of life in a small town.
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Dog lovers are a good breed themselves.
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