Winter is a time of promise because there is so little to do — or because you can now and then permit yourself the luxury of thinking so. – Stanley Crawford, A Garlic Testament: Seasons on a Small New Mexico Farm, 1992
The autumn twilight turned into deep and early night as they walked. Tristran could smell the distant winter on the air—a mixture of night-mist and crisp darkness and the tang of fallen leaves…. the crescent moon hung white in the sky and the stars burned in the darkness above them. – Neil Gaiman, Stardust