The way the trees looks like this. Fiery leaves scattered across every surface imaginable.
The long days and nights of nothing but rain. Cold, cold rain. No other rhythm like it in the world.
The way burning leaves smell. Huge piles of ’em. All the smoking, grey clouds they emit. The way you can smell it from miles away.
Twilights like this. The barren branches sleeping beneath the burning skies. The last birds escaping.
Pumpkins still glowing long after the night has settled. Nothing eerier yet strangely as comforting than a craggy-toothed punkin’ smiling as you enjoy an evening walk.
The way the insects sound. It’s different than in spring (fresh and waking) or in summer (cicadas always whirring). In autumn, crickets own the night.
The wind blowing through the dry, dead grass. In some places, it’s ceaseless. In others, meandering.
The way the sky looks like this most of the time. Leastways where I come from…
Listening to music like this. Especially at night. Bonus points if you can name this particular album.
Watching movies like this. Curled up on the couch alone or with a friend. There’s no better season for horror than autumn.
Dreaming of being the most terrifying kid in the neighborhood on All Hallows. And maybe just pulling it off. We’ve got nothing on the way our great grandfathers used to do it.
Nothing beats autumn. It’s the best season for writing, the best season for existing. Summer is great for sports, spring for de-hibernating, and winter for all things indoors, but autumn……sips of Scotch on the back patio, bbq’s, meaningful football, All Hallows, walking in the drizzle, sleeping with your windows open, listening to the wind, black cats, fallow fields, cawing crows, spooky twilights, grey dawns, crimson leaves, crackling fireplaces, roasted marshmallows, camping, creeping, raking, burning, and watching the world get ready to sleep.
I’m glad you’re here, autumn. Let’s do this.
J Edward Neill