As I look at the sky at the beginning of September I notice something special in its light, a clear blue freshness.There is a new clarity in the air, which is in tune with the turning of the season and the slight chill in the early morning and at twilight. At sunset it is almost as if the golden light has been captured by the trees and clings to them, radiating a warm, weird glory. A couple of days after Keats composed his ode To Autumn he wrote a letter to his friend John Hamilton Reynolds: