A Glade of Gold and Autumn Magic

I’m becoming much more aware of the seasons as I’m getting older. But even before I started to slow down and pay attention, I had two favourite moments. There’s one day in late winter when you suddenly ‘know’ spring is on the way—though I haven’t puzzled out yet what causes this. My other favourite part is the beginning of autumn and—to me—it has a unique vibe. It’s a mix of misty morning, freshly turned soil, the first whiff of green leaves turning to mulch, and the way sound is just a touch more muffled, making the world seem closer and smaller.

That moment is where Until the Last Leaf Falls begins.

Niles built his glade the way he built everything else in his life: carefully, logically, alone. A birch for its gleam. A brooding spruce. A ginkgo that turns the colour of antique gold. He talks to the trees every morning before he opens his library, not because he expects an answer, but because they’re his only company after he’s optimised every transaction in his life except the one thing that actually matters: being known by someone. When the trees start answering him — a ripple of amusement, a rustle that feels like comfort, a memory shared by an old beam — the magic isn’t loud and flashy. Rather, it’s what Niles needs most: attention.

In the world of Until the Last Leaf Falls, the trees remember. They carry the imprint of every hand that has touched them, the sound of every conversation held beneath their branches, the scent of every season they have survived. And it’s a memory keeper’s task to listen and pass on those memories, so a solitary young tree isn’t left to face the world without the knowledge the older trees have gathered.

Orren, the storyteller who begins turning up in Niles’s glade with an armful of books and no phone, arrives with the turning leaves and must leave when the last one falls. Every scarf he wears, every shift in the colour of his eyes, every leaf that drifts to the ground becomes a countdown.

That much I knew when I started writing Niles’s tale. What I hadn’t counted on was seeing the signs of autumn — the crisp air, the gold light, the smell of woodsmoke and old paper — become a ticking clock for Niles and Orren’s romance.

I’m an intuitive writer, so while I know at the start where (I think) the story will end, I usually have no idea how my characters will actually get there. What I loved most about writing this story is how autumn became a character in its own right, and how the trees and the seasons combined to push Niles and Orren towards their HEA.

If you love autumn, and trees, and characters who use need the weather and the wisdom of trees to earn their happiness — I think you’ll feel right at home in Niles’s courtyard.