The Magic Apple Tree

by Susan Hill

it was one of those summers of poems and stories and country pictures, a once-upon-a-time summer, it was hot day after day, week after week,

in the midst of the blazing sunshine I felt the shadow of the end of summer, the turning of the year.

There is a smell in the air, the smell of autumn, a yeasty, damp, fruity smell, carrying a hint of smoke and a hint, too, of decay. It fills me with nostalgia, but I do not know for what. It is a smell I love, for this is and has always been my favourite season.

so. Spring so often promises what in the end it never pays, spring can cheat and lie and disappoint.

But I have never been let down by autumn, to me it is always beautiful, always rich,