Cutting a Pattern for the Perfect Autumn

      Season-makers, I think, should work from patterns. Variations from year to year would be allowed, but if the tailors would use patterns, they could cut the seasons according to what we already know is a perfect fit. My suggestion is that the tailors take this autumn as the pattern for all future autumns, since it is as near perfect as they come.

      Consider, for instance, color.

The tailors this autumn have eschewed the washed-out blandness of some years, pale, uninteresting fabrics, in favor of vividness and sharpness.

They have shunned the monotony of last year's yellows in favor of a rich variety of hues and tints. We don't have to dig deep into our vocabularies to describe the trees. We can take one look and shout, "Red! Yellow! Bronze! Orange! Pink! Burgundy!"

and then if we want to get closer, we can lean in and whisper, "Cinnabar. Magenta. Amber. Terra cotta. Russet. Mauve. Ferruginous."

      Next to color, the most important consideration for a perfect autumn is rain. A long autumn of dry days is wearing on the nerves, since we are never far from the thought that without winter water we face summer drought. Our spirits begin to dry up. We lose the spring in our step. We languish in gloom even under bright skies. On the other hand, an overly wet autumn doesn't give us a chance to breathe. When it rains too long our spirits are dampened. Our step becomes weighted. We peer at the sky as though from under water, looking for that blue that will give us a chance to come up for air. This autumn, which, as I say, should serve as the pattern, has given us a dash of rain now and then, every once in a while a good hard downpour to promise a strong, wet winter, and plenty of balmy, sunny days when we can breathe deeply and swim happily in autumn air.

      Temperature is perhaps the most temperamental element of all, and tailors could maybe make some adjustments in this autumn along these lines. It's easy to spoil the whole outfit by getting things either too cold and dry or too warm. Colored leaves go with cool weather like scones with tea, and cheese with wine. Autumn should be crisp, with nights cold enough to sweeten the apples and days just cool-tipped. This autumn has been a little too warm for the perfect pattern piece. Frost hasn't even killed my zinnias yet. The overall feeling isn't bad, day and night, but adjustments would be in order.

      The night sky of autumn is important, too. It should be keen and lustrous, something with an edge to it, something tinged with excitement or desire. Imperfect autumn nights – too warm, too wet – seem a little warped, the stars globbed onto the sky with glue. Autumn nights that serve as the pattern have a crescent moon and a scattering of stars cut out by a precision die and incised into the sky.

      So there you have it. That's how autumn ought to be, so let the pattern-makers take note: for color, rain, and night skies, (not quite for temperature), this autumn is a perfect fit.