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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
Night
Leaves
Long
Rain
Mark
Rains
Return
Bronze
Wind
Oaks
Cold
November
Walks
Nights
Fall
Grey

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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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Happiness of heart can never be measured out and bundled up, it's intangible. We keep running after it, grasping for it, and the heat of our running so seldom brings it closer. But now and then there may be a moment. We look at something and know it is good and beautiful. Those moments are happiness.
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April is a promise of what's to come.
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Faith is a curious thing. It must be renewed it has its own spring.
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Life is a process of discovery, of new perceptions.
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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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Most cats feel that bird-catching is their duty the instinct goes back to prehistoric times. Amber keeps in practice by chasing moths.
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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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Being a good neighbor is an art which makes life richer.
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There is a kind of immortality in every garden.
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Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past. Today's Christmas should mean creating happy hours for tomorrow and reliving those of yesterday.
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Pride may go before a fall, but jealousy goes before destruction.
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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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June in New England is like a lover's dream made tangible.
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Almost all words do have colour and nothing is more pleasant than to utter a pink word and see someone's eyes light up and know it is a pink word for him or her too.
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A good recipe for a human reducing breakfast is a lot of good things to eat, and three spaniels and two cats to eat with.
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I suppose I am a sparrow, a stay-at-home bird.
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Father was the most unreconciled taxpayer I ever knew.
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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 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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