I love the classic poem by John Keats 'To Autumn'. Here's the first verse, in-case you're unfamiliar:
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For summer has o'er brimmed their clammy cells.
I can't help thinking of it each year when I open my curtains on an Autumnal scene. However, this year, the mists and mellow fruitfulness don't appear to be as forthcoming as what seems to me, the almost constant rain we've been having here.
There's something comforting and inspiring for me in this type of rainy weather though. I can't say I find it great to go out in…
