"Autumnal! I had never heard the word before. It had a good sound, a golden sound, a sound of colour, and ripeness, and the maturity of things. Autumnal! I said it over to myself a time or two, and wondered if there was anybody I dared try it on, and decided there was not. [...] I was in half a mind to risk it on Father, he liked coloured words, too, but if they were to take his fancy they had to sum up a definite experience, something he could thrill over and talk about afterwards. Somebody told him once that the railway lines at Crewe were like a spider's web. He was fascinated with the thought. He knew what a spider's web was like, he had seen them, many and many a time stretched between brambles, or tall grasses, on an October morning, heavy with dew and shining as if they had been dipped in glass. The thought of railway lines being like that quite entranced him. [...] But I never thought it was necessary to stick to any one particular picture for words. You just had to let them have their way with you. They were spells to call up glowing visions. They goaded the imagination. They could bring together shreds and remembered pieces of scattered pleasures, and make them into one delightful whole. Autumnal was everything rich and splendid, and aflame with colour, in the dying summer."
From Country Boy by Richard Hillyer.