Ode to Autumn

I love autumn. It might be my favourite season. Weather here tends to be bright blue skies and the leaves are all turning to burned gold and copper. Plus the cold starts to creep in, which appeals to my inner-dormouse, making it acceptable to hibernate under piles of blankets, and cozying up to share warmth! There's something romantic about autumn, that the other seasons lack. Something about mittens and pink noses and Ella Fitzgerald which warm the soul, despite the crisp, cold winds.

Keats likes it, too!

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying dayAnd touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft

The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

~ John Keats, 'Ode to Autumn

My penchant for this particular time of year might also be why 'Autumn Effects at Argenteuil' is one of my favourite paintings...

'Autumn Effects at Argenteuil', Claude Monet. Courtauld, London.