Autumn! This used to be my favorite time of the year. The world exploding in color, the crisp air, the smell of southern pines in the wind. Harvest festivals and masquerade parties. Apple pie. The smell of chimney smoke when people light up their fireplaces. Piles of leaves to dive into. Not to mention my birthday, which falls in late September. Why wouldn’t you love this season?
Then I moved to Sweden where it rains almost every single day until the snow shows up. I no longer wanted to walk through the leaves anymore because I came out all muddy and wet. An umbrella was required when you left home and, yes, it’s cold, but most years Sweden skips over ‘crisp’ and goes straight to ‘bundle up it’s freezing outside.’
This year, it’s different. I guess the rain came early, or it’s waiting to surprise us–either way, I’m thankful. It’s gorgeous outside! To celebrate, I thought I’d share a few photos.
Sunlight shining through the trees, many of which still have leaves. I should have centered the camera a little lower and picked up the red leaves in the background.
Sweden is beautiful because it feels like nature is still part of the program, you know? Apartment buildings go up all the time, but you can find fields and woods, and tiny forests all over the place.
And for that, Atlas is grateful.
During the writing workshop I attended a couple of weeks ago, we had to go around the room and introduce ourselves, talk a little about our writing and tell everyone about a color, without mentioning that color’s name. If I ever have to do that again, I’m using this picture as inspiration.
I don’t know what these berries are, but they’re everywhere.
See that red fence? If you were to do a study on houses in Sweden, you’ll discover 96.4% are painted with this red paint. It’s charming. Until the day you wake up silently begging people to paint their houses neon green just to create some variety. There’s a house we pass on the way to my mother-in-law’s that’s bright pink. I love that house for making a statement.
Some trees are ready for winter.
Some see their neighbor in all his naked glory and stubbornly refuse to conform.
Even the flowers don’t want to say goodbye, yet.
The last dandelion.