Summer is but a memory. For the last few mornings, it's been cold and crisp and delicious. A beautiful autumn as refreshing as a pint of cider.Which is ironic, really, since I'm hundreds of miles away from the nearest pint of Scrumpy Jack.
The change in seasons happened overnight. One day, we were sweltering in the low nineties. Then, the next morning, we woke up to bustling winds and golden leaves. It's a modest sixty five degrees and the mornings are just the shy side of 'cold.'
Not that I mind.
Summer is brilliant, don't get me wrong. But there is nothing to beat a lovely autumn morning. My first memories of arriving in America - and falling in love with the place - were during the autumn months. One lungful of that crisp New England air conjours up everything that's 'America' to me.
The pumpkins on people's porches. The apple-scented candles everybody seems to burn. The scarves and hats and mittens. The indescribable beauty of the forests turning every shade of red, brown, orange and gold and every colour in between.
America is simply stunning, if you open your eyes and enjoy it.
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