Something Wicked This Way Comes (Green Town, #2)

by Ray Bradbury

In the meadow, the tents, the carnival waited. Waited for someone, anyone to wade along the grassy surf. The great tents filled like bellows. They softly issued forth exhalations of air that smelled like ancient yellow beasts.

Oh, what strange wonderful clocks women are. They nest in Time. They make the flesh that holds fast and binds eternity.

An autumn leaf, very crisp, fell somewhere in the dark. But it was only the page of a book, turning.