Oh sure, you loved me at first, when I was all sweet yellow leaves kissing a bright blue sky. You went head over heels for my fresh apples, a trip to the pumpkin farm, and the cozy warm sweaters that felt just right against my gently cooling temperatures.
But I've grown older. I now spit rain, swirl the dead leaves with my icy blasts, and fill the day with dark, heavy clouds that blot out what's left of the sun. Welcome to November; what do you think of me now?