Autumn Themed Books For Adults Novels & Stories

I missed my mate, my freedom, my friends, Kailin, and everyone at the vineyards. I watched a series about a group of delinquent kids born in space and dropped to Earth to see if the air was already breathable. I finished Episode twelve, and when a particular character pissed me off, I turned it off and went to read something in the study. There were some fiction books, but primarily old books from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, and Herman Melville. There were self-help and meditation books and a book about mystical creatures. I walked out of the study. If she allowed me to read a book about witchcraft, it might interest me, but that would be as dangerous as walking into the darkness without

As I perused the books, I could feel Aidan’s gaze on me. The shop, much like the one downstairs, boasted an impressive selection. These were books to be enjoyed in the coffee lounge, not purchased or taken home. A smile tugged at my lips as I reached the romance novel section. So, Well Thumbed had these too. I wondered if they had hidden gems, perhaps something I hadn’t read or that Uncle Alex’s book club, Bound To Please, hadn’t discovered yet.

Just muttered, “Feel free to browse.” I nodded and wandered. The silence was thick. Peaceful. I ran my fingers along the spines—mysteries, war history, sci-fi. None of it felt right. I turned a corner and found myself in a crooked, narrow aisle. A handwritten label above the shelf read: “Folklores, Myths & Things Best Left Alone.” Something about it made me shiver. I reached out and picked a worn, black-spined book: “The Blood and Bond of the Wild.”

It was a beautiful fall day. Unseasonably cool at 35 degrees, but perfect for the chore that awaited me. The local Salvation Army had put out a most needed list in the paper, and I knew we had a lot of those things collecting dust in the attic. Also, in three days, the city workers would be in our neighborhood for the fall pick up. They would come by in their big trucks and collect just about anything you put on the curb and haul it to the landfill.

The year 2014 Day first. It was the ninth month of the year. The autumn season. It is the season of inner calm and a kindly stoicism etched in memories of joy. The autumn comes as a gospel choir, harmonised in such a way that celebrates each hue and shows how they belong together. Autumn is alien. The season of bumper harvests and swaying hay is soon replaced by Hallowe’en and horror. It is a portal to a time of dread when winter’s suffocating skies throttle the land. At its most glorious, autumn is spectacular. The world is a-blaze in its fiery cloak of colours, from incandescent-red to lightning-gold. Then both leaf flame and field light burn bright one last time, ‘are fading into the dyin

I said, "I'll show you." I got off the couch, went back to my bedroom, and grabbed the iPad. I'd long since surfed away from what I'd been reading, so I navigated to the front page of the site and handed it to my sister. Her eyes went wide. "Erotic literature?" "It sounds fancier than it is," I said, "It's just dirty stories. Word smut. But it works for me. I guess it kind of gives me the best of both worlds. The stories are hot, but they also engage my imagination. I'm sorry. I hope this isn't creepy. Maybe I shouldn't have shown you this."

Autumn Emily's POV Aran's full council of eight Alphas arrived in the autumn when the hills were going gold and the packhouse had the specific quality it had in autumn — the warmth of a community that had spent a summer running at full pace and was settling into the more interior rhythms of the season without losing any of the quality that the summer's work had produced.

A lot more messier than she'd every thing of but above it all, she's with someone who would burn the whole world for her. Her Nicole. THE END! Thanks to everyone that took out time to read my book. I'm a newbie author and also watch out for more of my books to come. pls read, drop a comment (would love to know your thoughts) support too.

The turning of the season was a gentle, golden surrender. The maples on the bluff ignited, and the air on the Tidewater Trail grew crisp, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and fallen leaves. The frantic energy of summer tourism ebbed, leaving the town to itself once more. We, the Keepers, felt a similar drawing in. The harvest was gathered; now was the time for storing, for reflection. My book, “Notes from the Hearth: A Practice of Place,” was at the printers. The advance copy sat on my desk, a strange, quiet little object. It felt both deeply personal and oddly separate from me, like a child grown and ready to leave home.

Autumn arrived in Oakhaven with a sharp, brisk wind that turned the leaves in the forest behind our house into a beautiful, burning tapestry of gold and deep red. It was a melancholic change, but it didn't feel lonely. Instead, it felt like the house was finally settling into its own rhythm. We spent our evenings by the fire, but now, instead of talking about the things we were running from or the fears that used to keep us awake, we started planning for the winter. It was a new kind of preparation, one that felt hopeful.