“Season of mists and mellow fruitlessness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless…” — from the opening of To Autumn by John Keats, composed on September 19, 1819 after a leisurely stroll through Winchester

Autumn officially began on September 23, but it seems the season doesn’t begin to take hold until October when the lingering vestiges of summer finally fade into the pleasant coolness of the new season.

Everything feels better in October; pity God only granted us a mere 31 days to take it all in.

And lest we forget, ‘tis the season for the Pumkin Spice Brigade to make their yearly debut as well.

(Photographers unknown)