is perfectly described in the poem Autumn joy by John Ellis.
Has there ever been a morning like this
In October, when sun lips through trees kiss
weathered stone and paint the garden timber?
Has ever before seen such a miracle
of leaves, burnished both ochre and umber,
so languidly wrought beneath the garden wall?
Has such a bright furnace glow ever settled
quite so smilingly over grass metalled
with gold, to augur so peerless a day?
And was ever a prize so jostled for
in seasons’ race won more deservedly,
than by this glorious morning in October?