In the golden hours of autumn, when sunlight slants through branches at just the right angle, the world takes on a burnished glow. Virginia Woolf once observed that “autumn seems to cry for a million golden quills to paint it”. Indeed, it’s a season that gilds everything it touches—from the last lingering leaves to the quiet sophistication of a perfectly tailored camel coat in the crisp morning air.
IN THE quiet of autumn evenings, as twilight paints the sky in shades of lavender and gold, there’s a palpable shift in the air. It’s not just the crisper temperatures or the earlier sunsets, but a change in the very rhythm of life. Colette once wrote, “Autumn is the season of nostalgia, of memory, of looking back”. Yet it’s also a time of subtle anticipation, of cocooning ourselves in preparation for what’s to come.
