The fall harvest is finally among us. Autumn is like a season out of a storybook; it is full of spices and spooks, pumpkins and knits, foliage and apple cider. Fall happens to be one of my favorite seasons because of the beautiful colors and scenery. From cornucopias of gourds and harvest delights to Halloween and Thanksgiving, the aesthetics of this season are beyond compare. It’s like this season was made for the senses, as soon as the days become a little chillier you can feel the cold, smell the pumpkin spice, taste the candy corn, see the kids in costumes, and hear the autumn breeze rustling the leaves off trees.
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For some reason while putting this blog post together, I had the This Is Halloween song from The Nightmare Before Christmas stuck in my head. “Jack is king of the pumpkin patch, Everyone hail to the pumpkin king!” I guess I really am in the October spirit, haha. I suppose I was inspired by this song for this shoot as I do look like the Pumpkin Queen in this stunning NA-KD floral maxi dress. I love how the yellow roses and gold leaves compliment the bountiful background of pumpkins and gourds. As I mentioned before, truly nothing compares to the fall aesthetic. I styled my maxi dress with a pair of Frye boots (similar here) and a vintage Coach bag (modern version here). The brown hues of my accessories give the dress a rustic look, and surrounded by shades of marigold, squash and honey the colors blend well into the perfect autumnal setting.
I wanted to share this poem by one of my favorite poets and New England native, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He actually lived in my home town of Cambridge, MA for the latter half of his life. Some of the best writers are from New England and used the beautiful, and often harsh, imagery and weather to inspire their works. Longfellow does a much better job describing this wonderful season than I!
Autumn, 1839 by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
“There is a beautiful spirit breathing now
Its mellow richness on the clustered trees,
And, from a beaker full of richest dyes,
Pouring new glory on the autumn woods,
And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds.
Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird,
Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales
The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer,
Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life
Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned,
And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved,
Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down
By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees
The golden robin moves; the purple finch,
That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds,
A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle,
And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud
From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings;
And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke,
Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail.”
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