I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets.
Though I miss the Fall in my native Idaho, the unmistakable change of seasons in the Florida air this morning calls up a store of treasured memories that are keener and more stirring just by the remembering.
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