Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
I couldn't begin to match Keats for his poetry so I won't even try. But imagine how dull it would be to live in a country with no seasons? Autumn touches every one of my senses - the wonderful richness of the colours, the unbelievable sweetness of the pears scrumped from the orchard, the faint smell of woodsmoke in the air, the touch of the rough skinned russet (and when did you last see one of them in the supermarket?) and the crunch of leaves underfoot. Truly inspiring.
