Algernon Blackwood

“ No other sound is in the world. The hours are asleep. Autumn sits in her lonely wood, weaving her red and yellow leaves into a net to hold me lest I fall! When I wake in the morning, I shall see her tears upon the crimson leaves, upon the grass, upon the iron railing, big, big drops as clear as crystal, holding all the sky, I shall see the few lost stitches that she dropped, floating on cobwebs in the yellow sunlight. ”

“ Autumn steals across the slanting sunlight on the lawn for the year stands at the keen, and the smells of childhood float beneath the thinning branches. In my long chair by the open window I sit and dream. ”

“ I played upon that lawn, I took the hawks’ eggs from the dizzy, topmost branches; it was on turf like that I won the hundred yards. Sure of myself, I moved swiftly, easily, a few weeks, a few months⁠—or was it years?⁠—ago.⁠ ⁠... I have forgotten. It is past. I sit and dream.⁠ ⁠...
The little room is narrow, but autumn, entering softly, brings in distance as of the open sky, with misty places that are immense. Once they seemed endless. The whole world enters ”