Wild, West Wind

'Oh wild, west wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves, dead are driven,
Like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing...'

not my words, Shelley's, but apt for today.

The sky was deeply clouded, the wind was biting and the red and golden leaves were being driven before it, then swirling in the air. Perfect, absolutely perfect. I know that some people suffer horribly when the days get shorter. I wouldn't wish depression on anyone, but I love this time of year, just LOVE it. The dankness of November, the fog, the cold, the rain, the dark mornings.
I love all the rain months, the -ember months. This season has always inspired poets, artists, writers.
They inspire me, just not to anything in particular.

'Yellow and black and pale and hectic red, pestilence stricken multitudes.....'

The beauty of the season, the beauty of the language.