#BookWormSat 📗🎃
“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

— L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables, Chapter XVI

Anne dances in with maple boughs, reveling in autumn’s crimson and gold. Pure seasonal wonder for Autumn Literature. 🍁
#AnneOfGreenGables #AutumnReads

#BookWormSat 🍂
As autumn deepens, the Owens witches of "Practical Magic," by Alice Hoffman weave quiet spells of moon magic, sisterly bonds, and small-town enchantment.

Everyday magic unfurls amid autumn’s long nights atmospheric, warm, and deliciously witchy.
#AutumnReads #PracticalMagic ✨

Listen! The wind is rising, and the air is wild with leaves,
We have had our summer evenings, now for October eves!

Humbert Wolfe P.L.M." (Peoples, Landfalls, Mountains)

📷 Peter Meade

#BookWormSat

When a sighing begins
In the violins
Of the autumn-song,
My heart is drowned
In the languorous sound …

Chanson d’automne
Paul Verlaine

Ivan Choultsé #BookWormSat

‘Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.’ ~ Albert Camus.

@racheldeering.bsky.social here for the rest of an autumnal #BookWormSat

🖼️ Ellen Robbins

October Country, Ray Bradbury

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"O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves..."
- William Wordsworth, 'Nutting'

🎨John Glover, Cumberland Landscape, 1820
#BookWormSat #Cumbria #poetry

'Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we still have to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.'

THE ADVENTURE OF THE NOBLE BACHELOR
Arthur Conan Doyle (1892) #BookWormSat 💙📚

“It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust of brown sugar and cinnamon.”
― Sarah Addison Allen, "First Frost" #BookWormSat @bookwormsat.bsky.social

"That season which has drawn from every poet worthy of being read some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling – that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness."

(Jane Austen "Persuasion", 1817)

🎨 John Atkinson Grimshaw (1874)

#BookwormSat

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

Shakespeare, Sonnet 73
#BookWormSat