Season of mists

[shewhomust]

janni had some interesting things to say (and stimulated some interesting comments from other people, too) about the gap between the Platonic ideal of autumn, and your actual milage. Brilliantly coloured fall foliage, followed by sudden cold, is a northern phenomenon, she says, and gives this lovely description of her own autumn:

After 12 years, I can see the signs of autumn in the desert more clearly--the gentle cool evenings, the sharp clarity of the outlines of the mountains against the achingly deep blue sky, the change in the color and slant of the light.

Autumn for me starts with the autumn fruits, which means that by late August, with blackberries and the heather in full bloom, I feel on the very brink of autumn. Then come the elderberries, and sloes if you can find any, and quinces if we can be in London to harvest them. Pumpkins start to appear in the shops (catch them while you can, because they vanish at Hallowe'en: they're for making lanterns from, not for cooking). Autumn is when I most want to be in the kitchen.

There are glorious days of crisp golden sun; this can be the best time of the year. But it can also be grey, soft and misty. The days have been growing shorter and shorter all summer, but it's now, when overcast skies make it seem dark in the late afternoon, that we remember how short the days are in winter. It can be as exhilarating as that perfect, fall foliage, autumn, but it can also be melancholy and reflective.

Likewise, the leaves: in theory they change colour before they fall. But in practice, there'll just be the odd branch positioned so it catches the sun, or sheltered from the cold, or whatever the magic condition is, and that one branch will blaze with gold or scarlet. The leaves strewn down the street are all shades of rust, but the leaves on the trees seem to wither from green to gold and then fall.

ETA: poliphilo's autumn photos just about cover it.