It was autumn. Gold was underfoot. There were empty sad beaches. Deep, viscous fogs. Crude freshness in the morning. Warm gentle sun at noon.
If to compress the whole year up to one day, then October is the evening, the sunset. The last warm rays before the darkness. Touchdown. But after sunset twilight comes. The rising of the night.
November is the time after sunset. Faded evening dawn In the west. Cold long night ahead. Late evening of the year. One hundred days until the morning.
