From my collection of yardsale paintings.
The first sign of autumn is sound. Leaves no longer sigh and whisper with the wind. They clatter and complain above the gutteral of seed pods and the rasp of dry grass below.
Here, the trees are about a third turned, but already some leaves are falling. They scatter and scurry along the sidewalks and streets in the wake of passing cars like demented brown mice.
Sometimes, Fall is described as a resignation, a gentle melancholy of fading embers, a quiet, golden passage into the stark of winter.
Here, in the North Country, the forest flares and flames in unreconciled bonfire fury. Equinoctial storms are full of rage and resentment at the dying of the light.
Have you noticed that versatile word up has acquired additional usage?
The cliche about "stepping up to the plate/challenge" is reborn by "ramp up" and "man up," and even "hug up."
Why do doctors call what they do...practice?
Why is the man who invests your money called a broker?
And why is an airport called a terminal?