one in sympathy
with nature, each season in
turn … seems loveliest
The land that has four well-defined seasons cannot lack beauty, or pall with monotony.
Each season brings a world of enjoyment and interest in the watching of its unfolding, its gradual, harmonious development, its culminating graces—and just as one begins to tire of it, it passes away and a radical change comes, with new witcheries and new glories in its train.
And I think that to one in sympathy with nature, each season, in its turn, seems the loveliest.
From Roughing It by Mark Twain (Harper & Brothers: New York, 1913).
No Haiku For You 