By the time arrived, the hickories and birches had burst into gold, and the maples had set the hillsides on fire with red and orange. “Now?” Winter whispered eagerly.
“Now,” the Oak said softly. “November is the handshake between us. We have given our color and our harvest. The world is ready for your silence and your snow.”
Winter huffed, but he waited.
But the Great Oak, the eldest of the grove, rustled its green leaves patiently. “Not yet, Winter. September is our bridge. The children are going back to school, and the sun still holds its warmth in the afternoon, but the nights are getting sharp. We are preparing for you, but we are still autumn’s first act.”
Old Man Winter smiled, stepped fully into the forest, and touched the ground with his staff. The first frost silvered the grass. Autumn was over, and the long sleep began. So, in the story of the American seasons, the months are clear: (the bridge), October (the peak), and November (the farewell). what months are autumn in usa
The Great Oak shook its head, sending a cascade of acorns to the ground. “No. This is our grand finale. This is the cider press, the pumpkin patch, the rustle of wind through cornfields. October is autumn’s heart—loud and beautiful. You must wait until we drop our curtain.”
Winter scowled but held his breath.
Then came . The golden leaves turned brown and rattled like bones. The last geese flew south in ragged V’s. The sky turned the color of pewter, and the air smelled of wet earth and woodsmoke. The Great Oak stood nearly bare, its branches raised like skeletal fingers.