She texted Tom: It’s now.
One October morning, she stepped outside and stopped. The air didn’t bite, but it nudged. A crisp, sweet cold that smelled of wet leaves and someone’s chimney smoke. The chestnut tree on her street had turned—not all at once, but in patches: amber, rust, a single branch of lemon yellow. when is autumn in uk
Maya had been in London for three years, but she still asked the question every September. She texted Tom: It’s now
A toddler in a puffy coat stomped through a pile of leaves. His mother laughed, breath fogging faintly. A crisp, sweet cold that smelled of wet
Then she deleted it. She walked to the café on the corner, ordered a pumpkin spice latte she used to mock, and sat by the window as the 11:15 sun made a brief, glorious appearance.
Her flatmate Tom, born twenty miles down the road in Essex, would shrug. “Officially? Late September to late December. But really? Autumn’s when you feel it.”