“Summer ends, and Autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night.”
One walks, seemingly alone with the night and the universe. But as the dusk deepens the eight-hoot call of the barred owl is heard from the far hillsdie. Then silence again, and one's own footsteps in the leaf-strewn road. A farm dog barks in the distance and on the highway down the valley a truck growls into a lower egar for the long grade over the hilltop. And now the silent stars gleam beyond the thinning treetops.
The owl eight-hoots again and one knows he is not alone, even in the starlit immensity of the autumn night."