Feels like the right time to post some seasonal stories. This is the more gentle one, from a very gentle author. The other seems a bit more opinionated.
Lord, it is time! The summer was immense. Stretch out your shadow on the sundial's face, and let the winds go loose on the meadows.
Command the last fruits to be full in time. Grant them even two more southerly days, press them toward fulfilment soon, and chase the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now, will build none. Who is alone now, will stay long alone, will lie awake, get long letters written, and through the streets that follow up and down, will wander restless, when the leaves are driven.
after Rainer Maria Rilke