"It was October when the child began stirring. [...] She was clearing away leaves when she felt the child move. She said 'Well, child!' I been waiting on you.' The sun was brightly mild. There was the crisp sound of maple leaves just ripe enough to fall, and leathery oak leaves that would cling until the wind took them, and the smell from the fields of all the life that had burned through all those crops until it spent itself down like a fire."