Autumn is Here: My Favourite Season in England

There’s a certain hush that comes with autumn, like the world is finally exhaling after the brightness and bustle of summer. The air grows crisp, the sun lowers its gaze, and the trees begin their slow, beautiful surrender. And here in England, where seasons are more than just shifts in temperature—they’re moods, metaphors, even music—I find myself falling in love with autumn all over again.

It is, without question, my favourite season.

Each morning feels like the beginning of a poem. There’s mist hugging the rooftops, dew-laced grass beneath your feet, and trees dressed in shades of gold, amber, russet, and flame. Even the pavements look like stories waiting to be read—each scattered leaf a punctuation mark left behind by time.

Autumn, for me, feels like coming home to myself.

Walking through local parks or countryside trails this time of year is like wandering through an old painting—one painted slowly by an artist who understands the beauty of letting go. Leaves crunch underfoot like delicate reminders that change can be both messy and magnificent. The scent of damp earth, woodsmoke, and rain brings a kind of grounding that summer rarely offers. Autumn, for me, feels like coming home to myself.

But this season isn’t just about the scenery—it’s about the feeling.

There’s a particular kind of coziness that only autumn can bring. The simple joy of pulling on a warm jumper, wrapping yourself in a blanket, and nursing a mug of something hot while the wind whispers outside the window—it’s a kind of magic that can’t be bottled. It’s a season of quiet pleasures: pumpkin soups bubbling on the stove, the first taste of cinnamon-dusted treats, the soft flicker of candles lighting up a darkening room.

And perhaps most meaningfully, it’s a time for inwardness.

Where summer often calls us to run wild and outward, autumn invites us to slow down and look within. To reflect. To recalibrate. To take stock of the year—what we’ve gained, what we’ve lost, what we’ve outgrown. It reminds me that we are allowed to change. We are allowed to shed old versions of ourselves, like trees letting go of their leaves—not because we’ve failed, but because we’re making space for what’s next.

In England, this season is peppered with charming traditions—harvest festivals that celebrate the year’s bounty, Halloween evenings filled with laughter and mischief, and market stalls overflowing with crisp apples, hearty vegetables, and handmade crafts. I find myself wandering these markets with slow wonder, touched by how simple things—a smile from a vendor, the smell of fresh bread, the chill in the air—can anchor us in the present moment.

And then there’s the landscape itself.

From the rolling amber hills of the Cotswolds to the fairy-tale woodlands of the Lake District, England offers no shortage of places to explore during this golden chapter of the year. Each turn of the path feels like a new verse in an unfolding sonnet. If you’re a lover of photography, like I am, you’ll find yourself pausing every few minutes—not to document perfection, but to honour beauty that’s fleeting.

Because that’s the soul of autumn, isn’t it?

It’s a season that teaches us to love things even as they fade. To see the value in impermanence.

It’s about knowing that nothing stays in full bloom forever, and that there is as much power in surrender as there is in blossoming. It’s about trusting that even when the branches are bare, life is quietly being prepared beneath the surface.

Personally, autumn has become a gentle mirror for the kind of life I want to lead—not fast, not loud, but intentional. A life where I take time to feel things deeply, to savour what I have before it slips away, and to keep finding beauty in the in-between moments.

So whether you’re watching the rain roll down the window, sipping something warm in the company of a good book, or standing in the middle of a forest with your arms open to the falling leaves—know this:

You are part of nature, too.

And just like the trees, it’s okay to let go. It’s okay to rest. It’s okay to begin again.

Here’s to the soft days ahead. To the foggy mornings and fire-lit nights.
To hot drinks, hearty conversations, and the healing stillness that only autumn brings.

Here’s to my favourite season in England.
And here’s to you, wherever you are, finding your own golden moment.

With love and falling leaves,
Anj Gabriel 🍁