If you had asked me two years ago which was my favourite season, I am not sure I would have had an answer for you. I would have probably mentioned the hopefulness of Spring and the warmth of Summer. I may have commented on the seasons in Scotland blurring into one; the reality of the seasons being far from literary imaginings.
Then I moved to New England and fell in love with Fall. The seasons here are distinct. Spring, bright and full of hope; Summer, hot and happy. Winter, harsh. But Autumn? Autumn is crisp days; reds and golds; hats and scarves; brisk walks; seeing your breath; welly boots and puddles; retreating indoors for hot chocolate and cosy cuddles. It may not have the overt promise of Spring or the languid indulgence of Summer. But, it is beautiful and invigorating and golden.