John Keats famously wrote about the "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" in his 1819 English classic "Ode to Autumn' poem. It is a magical and beautiful time of year where nature celebrates the gentle decay with one last vibrant display of life with crimson reds and golds. You really feel that the trees are singing a melancholic song as you walk among the falling leaves and feel a heavy sigh as winter approaches. I'd like to share with you some modern poetry that describes the essence of autumn perfectly:
It seems Earth is breathing softer now.
Early morning, and the yellow sun,
shining through coloured glassware
arrayed in the kitchen window,
creeps gradually day by day, away.
How gentle the air drifts cool against skin,
rippling water in the birdbath,
which, in its turn reflects a paler sky.
Late afternoon it's good
to sit inside the front window,
watch shadows lengthen,
feel simple joy in seeing
rainbow reflections painting
the walls once again as the sun
lowers itself to peer, big eyed,
through the suspended crystals
into the dusk-shadowed room.