Autumn is about hot coffee, slightly burning either by temperature or by the bitterness of roasting, about milky fogs in the early morning and the smell of smoke from chimneys, about sunlight, like melted honey, about long walks and cozy evenings with yellowed pages of old books, about the boiling whistle, polished to a shine, a pot-bellied teapot and rising from cups of fragrant herbal tea, about days filled with the smell of grains and cinnamon, about Akhmatova's quatrains aloud, about jazz compositions that have returned to the playlist, about spicy autumn perfume, with a smoky scent of cherry pits, about a bouquet of maple leaves and picnics with grapes, buns and tender goat cheese, about the rain outside the window of a warm house, in which the feet are buried in the soft pile of the carpet, and a cup of cocoa with almond crumbs warms the palms. Autumn is about something that fills your heart with woolen autumn comfort ...