The gilding of the Indian summer mellowed the pastures far and wide. The russet woods stood ripe to be stripped, but were yet full of leaf. The
purple of heath-bloom, faded but not withered, tinged the hills...
Fieldhead gardens bore the seal of gentle decay; ... its time of
flowers and even of fruit was over.
- Charlotte Brontë
Did I mention this was my favorite time of year? I did, didn't I. I'm just so freaking happy, I could bust a button.
