Now are the rough things smooth, and the smooth things stand in flickering slats, facing the slow tarnish of sun-fall.

Summer is over, or nearly.

And therefore the green is not green anymore but yellow, beige, russet, rust; all the darknesses are beginning to settle in.

And therefore why pray to permanence, why not pray to impermanence, to change, to – whatever comes next.

Willingness is next to godliness.

Mary Oliver, prose-poem