“Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first September was crisp and golden as an apple…” – J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
“The autumn leaves blew over the moonlit pavement in such a way as to make the girl who was moving there seem fixed to a sliding walk, letting the motion of the wind and the leaves carry her forward. […] The trees overhead made a great sound of letting down their dry rain.” – Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
“Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?” – Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle
“He found himself wondering at times, especially in the autumn, about the wild lands, and strange visions of mountains that he had never seen came into his dreams.” – J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
“After the keen still days of September, the October sun filled the world with mellow warmth…The maple tree in front of the doorstep burned like a gigantic red torch. The oaks along the roadway glowed yellow and bronze. The fields stretched like a carpet of jewels, emerald and topaz and garnet. Everywhere she walked the color shouted and sang around her…In October any wonderful unexpected thing might be possible.” – Elizabeth George Speare, The Witch of Blackbird Pond
“On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.” – Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
“October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces.” – J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
“The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.” – Dr. Seuss, The Cat in the Hat
My dog,
galloping through the rain,
galloping through the freezing rain,
galloping with his dog friends through the freezing rain,
yells with joy.
– Jake, WAFMS grade 8
“In November, at winter’s gate, the stars are brittle. The sun is a sometime friend. And the world has tucked her children in, with a kiss on their heads, till spring.” – Cynthia Rylant, In November