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

“Autumn that year painted the countryside in vivid shades of scarlet, saffron and russet, and the days were clear and crisp under harvest skies.”

“It was a beautiful Indian summer morning and perfect for savoring a few extra minutes in bed. There was a breeze blowing through my bedroom window; the air was as crisp as a bite of a fresh red apple.”

“Even as winter comes, mornings are crisp, and the big, blue sky seems to hang newly washed over the sea of hills.”

“Night, which in Autumn seems to fall from the sky so suddenly, chilled us...”

“He got out of bed and peeped through the blinds. To the east and opposite to him gardens and an apple-orchard lay, and there in strange liquid tranquility hung the morning star, and rose, rilling into the dusk of night the first grey of dawn. The street beneath its autumn leaves was vacant, charmed, deserted.”