A forest ablaze in crimson and amber, the heady scent of wood fires and roasting chestnuts and the satisfying crunch of fallen foliage underfoot.
When I close my eyes and think of fall, this is the picture that is conjured immediately in my mind. One that makes me giddy with happiness and never fails to bring a smile to my face – though it is an image that has taken 25 years to create.
Growing up along the east coast of Australia, fall was simply that awkward phase between summer and winter, when the days grew shorter, a stiff chill was woven through the evening air and the sun hugged a little closer to the horizon. An indication that my days of frolicking carefree at the beach in a revolving closet of summer dresses were slowly and sadly drawing to a close.
Between the evergreen leaves of pines and eucalyptus, my world was perpetually colored in shades of deep green and gum tree blue, edged in blond sand and the sparkling Pacific, no matter what the time of year.
Without the thrill of snow through winter or the rainbow-colored patchwork of flower fields in spring, it was the warmth of summer that forever drew me in.
That is, until fall and I became a little better acquainted.
Last year in September my summer in Europe was coming to a close and on a whim I chose to spend my final days in Slovenia.
Crossing the border from Italy I found myself in a sea of rich autumnal tones, the ‘greenest’ country in Europe now illuminated in sunset reds and halos of gold.
Needless to say, I was head over heels from the start.
Though this gorgeous country has many fairytale places that likely helped it reach the top of my mental ‘most magical places in Europe’ list, seeing it in the throes of fall definitely had something to do with it.
I spent my days hiking in a childlike bliss across the blanketed forest floors, a pleasing rustle and crunch in answer to my every step. I lost hours watching the perfect reflections of blushing leaves dance on the surface of the lake, an ethereal mist lapping at the water’s surface. I was like a little girl from a storybook, lost in a deep reverie among this symphony of color.
Fall was no longer just a brisk chill that put an end to my favorite summer past times. It was a masterpiece of rich hues and vibrant tones – nature’s paintbrush making the final touches to what was formerly a canvas of green. One that day-to-day was daubed in deeper reds and brighter yellows.
When meeting other travelers, the topic of things we miss from home is often discussed. Many years ago a girl from Canada mentioned that what she craved most was the changing seasons – the blossoming flowers in spring, the lush green pastures of summer, the reddening leaves of fall and finally the dusting of snowflakes that turned the world white.
At the time I’m fairly sure this would have solicited a mental scoff and an unconvinced raised eyebrow in her direction. No wintry day could ever compete with the long days of perpetual sunshine and golden afternoons of summer that I dreamed of.
Or so I thought.
Nowadays I am still grateful for those days of warmth – for the sun on my back and the warm breeze caressing my cheeks. But as time moves on summer is no longer the season that I yearn for, it is one of painted trees, rosy hues and the delicious crackle of leaves beneath my feet.
This is a guest post by Freya Muller.
After graduating university and getting a taste of the corporate world of environmental consulting, Freya packed her bags and headed out with a one-way ticket to Tahiti, the promise of adventure, paradise beaches and as many coconuts and mangoes as she could manage. Now a few years on she loves getting lost in the mountains, seeking out postcard-perfect beaches and sampling every new cuisine she can find. While she pops in to her base in Sydney, Australia occasionally, she now calls the open road her home.
Along with her partner Chris, Freya writes for the travel blog and you can follow their day-to-day adventures on Instagram
