Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun.
—John Keats. “To Autumn”
Forget those hot, sunny, summer days. Forget the snow-capped tress of winter. In my opinion, the best time of year is September. The early morning dew, the cool nights and warm days, and the leaves—those yellows, oranges, and reds along the sidewalks like frightened footprints scurrying into fog. The fog, shrinking the world around you until every few steps is a step into the unknown…
True, this experience is geographically dependent, and I am showing my northern hemisphere bias (I admit that I have a hard time conceiving how the inverted world below the equator works.), but I am not the only one who indulges in this transformative month. Continue reading