Autumn is again upon us, bringing fresh
delight in woodsmoke, hot cider, tart apples, colorful foliage, and -- for
those in northern climates -- crisp
cold air. Atlantic contributors have waxed poetic about the season
over the years, and we thought you'd enjoy a fall sampler:
"Chesuncook," by Henry David Thoreau (1858)
"After a dinner, at which apple-sauce was the greatest luxury to me, but our
moose meat was oftenest called for by the lumberers, I walked across the
clearing into the forest, southward returning along the shore. For my dessert,
I helped myself to a large slice of the Chesuncook woods, and took a hearty
draught of its waters with all my senses...."
"Autumn Thoughts," by Edward Thomas (1902)
"On that October day, nothing was visible at first save yellow flowers, and
sometimes a bee's quiet shadow crossing the petals: a sombre river, noiselessly
sauntering seaward, far away dropped with a murmur, among leaves, into a
"October Frost," by Josephine Johnson (1953)
The early part of October is a beautiful and uncertain time, cold and wet and
dry and warm. The trees have a drying yellow color all over the countryside
with only a solitary burning light here and there. Our black kittens move out
distastefully into the cold mornings...."
"Brigadoon, USA," by Jack Beatty (1989)
"The windows were thickly covered by embroideries of frost. We had had a large,
delicious dinner, had sat by the hearth watching the logs spark and glow, had
had our brandies, and were snug in our beds...."
See the Flashbacks Archive.
Copyright © 1996 by The Atlantic Monthly Company. All rights