List of voters for the quote

Narrator: A morning arrives in November, a leafless, birdless coming of winter morning, when she cannot rouse herself to exclaim:...'Oh my, it's fruitcake weather!'...and when that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing from me an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite on a broken string. That is why, on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying toward heaven.

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