It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.

P.D. James

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.

Willa Cather

If there comes a little thaw,

Still the air is chill and raw,

Here and there a patch of snow,

Dirtier than the ground below,

Dribbles down a marshy flood;

Ankle-deep you stick in mud

In the meadows while you sing,

'This is Spring.'

Christopher Pearce Cranch, 'A Spring Growl'