Autumn often appeals to poets both for its beauty and the poignancy of life on the cusp of winter, which is metaphor for death, yet also sleep and the dreaming season that quietly awaits the rebirth of spring. It also holds the holidays that appeal to children and those who remember the joy and simplicity of the child-like. Further, it is football season, the playoffs for baseball, the beginning of hockey. Folks can favor other seasons. I don’t mind them being wrong.