In autumn when the trees are brown
The little leaves come tumbling down
They do not make the slightest sound
But lie so quietly on the ground
Until the wind comes puffing by
And blows them off towards the sky.
“There is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!”
Percy Bysshe Shelley

The lands are lit with all the autumn blaze of golden-rod, and everywhere the purple asters nod and bend and wave and flit. (Helen Hunt)

Fiery colors begin their yearly conquest of the hills, propelled by the autumn winds. Fall is the artist. (Takayuki Ikkaku)

Autumn burned brightly, a running flame through the mountains, a torch flung to the trees. (Faith Baldwin)
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