Autumn is a tricky season. It beguiles with its charms, its rich palette of earthy reds, yellows, maroons, and browns. A photographer’s dream. Crisp air for crisp walks — even dog owners speed up their pace.
But Autumn is beauty tinged with melancholy. An ending. A showy climax, then a long denouement leading to winter, to sleep, to cold.
The best part of autumn, for me, is the delayed sunrise, that most special time of day that is too quick and early in the summer. In autumn I can rise before the sun and watch it break over the harbour.
Autumn light is different. More diffuse, less stark. Clouds build on the horizon, bunched in folded layers in the direction of Rochester, across the lake, and the sun has to lift itself over them before spreading its light.
The sun is mellow and in its glow I forget the melancholy.