ArtsWatch

In literature as in music, some passages just play over and over in your mind until they create a permanent home. Here, for no reason other than its incredible lyricism and the hope that its sense of quiet might be experienced someday soon by troops coming home, is something from Hamlin Garland's The Return of a Private (1891):
"Sunday comes in a Western wheat harvest with such sweet and sudden relaxation to man and beast that it would be holy for that reason, if no other, and Sundays are usually fair in harvest-time. As one goes out into the field in the hot morning sunshine, with no sound abroad save the crickets and the indescribably pleasant silken rustling of the ripened grain, the reaper and the very sheaves in the stubble seem to be resting, dreaming."
Is there a composer in the house?