Fall

A fair is good at any hour of the twenty-four. I love it early on a rainy morning when the Ferris wheel is wearing its tarpaulins and the phrenologist is just brushing her teeth. You climb a wet ladder into the loft of the cattle barn for a forkful of hay and find a fellow asleep heavily, his shoes folded across his breast like a lily.

When a glass of wine is poured a wine fly appears promptly - but I never see him at any other time, and wonder where he keeps himself in the meanwhile and what he does for a drink.

- E. B. White, from his essay "Fall" One Man's Meat