Autumn is here and winter is coming.
Two guests I could do without.
I am afraid of them, these strangers
living outside my greenhouse.
They press against the glass, voyeurs,
these seasonal saboteurs.

There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves.

Summer rushes in on the heels of spring, eager to take her turn; and then she dances with wild abandon. But the time soon comes when she gratefully falls, exhausted and sated, into the auburn arms of autumn.

My soul is in a state of perpetual Autumn.

Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

Autumn in the country advances in a predictable path, taking its place among the unyielding rhythms of the passing seasons. It follows the summer harvest, ushering in cooler nights, and shorter days, enveloping all of Lanark County in a spectacular riot of colour. Brilliant hues of yellow, orange and red exclaim, in no uncertain terms, that these are the trees where maple syrup legends are born.