Showing posts from September, 2019


It is autumn. Or is it fall? Fall is the old English word adopted by North Americans. Autumn, as we say in modern Britain, is also old English and was stolen from us by the French. (Alright French friends, I admit, we stole it from you…) Both words are used by Shakespeare. I love both the literal description of fall and the rich onomatopoeia of autumn. Autumn is kicking through leaves as a kid and the quiet descent of the world into darkness. Fall is showers of golden leaves blowing from the birch trees and carpeting the yard in lemon yellows, ambers and russet browns.  Even the dull, old spruce trees got a covering and for a few days they looked like they were sporting bling for some astounding, sylvan event. Morning mist on the river In England, autumn can start around July and not end until March, if at all. In the Yukon, it is a few blazing weeks, with the fall colours at their peak for days only. Fall amidst the miniature forests on the hillside tun