It was a beautiful bright autumn day, with air like cider and a sky so blue you could drown in it.

But frost, like the crystallized dreams of autumn, began to coat the clearing with its sugar glaze.

I was just telling Claire about a guy I met in bread class. I hate him, but he could be my soul mate.

It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.

I loved autumn, the one season of the year that God seemed to have put there just for the beauty of it.

The goldenrod is yellow,The corn is turning brown...The trees in apple orchardsWith fruit are bending down.

By late autumn the yard would grow thick with fallen leaves, causing the landlady to heave many deep sighs.

All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn,Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn."[Brigs of Ayr]

I want to say something so embarrassing about September that even the leaves start blushing and turning red.

The rain hit the windows like rice; the fire roared hollowly; the autumn afternoon discoloured into darkness.

I tell myself relationships are hard work. No one is perfect. There's no such thing as happily ever after.

Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, O flakes of snow, For which, through naked trees, the winds A-mourning go?

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple.

Que sigue pagando el otono con tanto dinero amarillo?What does autumn go on paying forwith so much yellow money?

Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!