in Thoreau’s Journal:  

The snow keeps off—unusually— The landscape is the colour of a russet apple which has no golden cheek— The sunset sky supplies that. But though it be crude to bite it yields a pleasant acid flavour.

The year looks back toward summer—& a summer smile is reflected in her face. There is in these days a coolness in the air which makes me hesitate to call them Indian summer. At this season I observe the form of the buds which are prepared for spring…