"The dirty golden mustard of September"

And I stop by a gateway
To smoke a cigarette
And stares across the fields and remember
The gypsy fairs of August
And early evening haze
The dirty golden mustard of September

Martin Newell, Black Shuck
 

I quote this poem every year or so, but not this specific stanza. I do the previous one, but rereading it yesterday as I often do during my reading ritual in preparation for Halloween, the last line struck me. This is what it has started to look like now outside, the trees have dirty golden mustard spots in their branches. Dirty golden mustard is the colour of September. Oh and you can most definitely feel (and enjoy!) the early evening haze too.