Second Glances with Arabella

Cherishville is back—more beautiful, moodier, and bolder than ever—for the season of autumn, which my readers already know is my absolute favorite in all of Second Life. And yet, I had to wait nearly a year to see it again cloaked in this most glorious of palettes. That’s because Cherishville, nestled within the SL region of Tuscan Hills, is a truly seasonal destination—reinventing itself four times a year, each transformation as breathtaking as the last.

I first discovered this remarkable place last winter, when snow blanketed the village like spun sugar and twilight hung low in the sky, casting violet shadows across frozen landscapes. I remember wandering through deep drifts, marveling at the quiet poetry of it all. Every flickering lamplight, every soft crunch of snow beneath my boots seemed crafted to perfection. It was then I learned that Lam Erin and his creative counterpart, Azaria, were the minds behind this visual symphony—a partnership that has since become one of my favorite duos in the virtual landscape.

The pair possess an extraordinary eye for atmosphere and detail. As I explored that wintry wonderland, I found myself completely immersed in their vision—so much so that I left not only inspired but mildly envious. I confess, one of the homes featured there in all its Christmas finery became my home shortly thereafter. (Imitation, after all, is the sincerest form of flattery!)

Then winter thawed into spring, and Cherishville awakened like something from a dream—bursts of flowers, gentle streams, the air alive with birdsong and the promise of renewal. Summer followed, golden, hot and abundant, and finally—at long, delicious last—came AUTUMN, that season of mystery and memory, when nature itself seems to exhale.

But this autumn, something was different.

Upon arrival, I found myself standing in the rain beneath a pewter sky. Puddles shimmered on pavement. Leaves, drenched and wind-tossed, scattered like forgotten letters. This was not the golden, crisp autumn I’d been expecting—and yet, it was utterly, achingly perfect.

Lam and Azaria have chosen a more reflective vision this year, one that celebrates autumn’s quieter side—the melancholy beauty that exists between the riot of color and the coming of frost. It’s an autumn not of postcards, but of poetry: the kind that smells of wet leaves and wood smoke, where every sound seems amplified by the rain. There’s a cold nip in the air, and the colors—amber, rust, umber—glow like embers against the gray sky.

Every corner of Cherishville feels alive with the spirit of the season. There are pumpkins on lantern-lit porches, fields of sunflowers bowing their heavy heads, corn fields and cozy homes adorned in autumn’s finery. A churchyard, shrouded in fog and mystery, rests on the edge of the village—its crooked gravestones and whispering willows hinting at the approaching Halloween night. Even the spirits, it seems, have found a place to call home here.

Cherishville is not merely seen—it’s felt. It’s the hush of rainfall on tin roofs, the scent of damp earth, the glow of light spilling from a cottage window. It’s that rare kind of environment that doesn’t just depict a season but embodies it, reminding us how even in a virtual world, emotion can be rendered in pixels and prims.

So, wear your galoshes. Wrap yourself in a warm coat. Bring an umbrella and perhaps your favorite tune for rainy days. Wander through the open buildings—have a drink in the pub, linger at the train station, and stand on the bridge and watch the rain ripple across the lake as if time itself has slowed to savor the view. Take photographs, or simply stand still and breathe it in like a hot mug of pumpkin spice latte.

Because Cherishville Autumn is fleeting, as all beautiful things are. The leaves will fall, the rain will pass, and before long winter will return to paint the world white again. But for now—right now—Cherishville stands as a love letter to the season of change, where every raindrop, every flicker of light, every echo of thunder reminds us why we return to Second Life again and again: to feel something wondrous.

Post Notes:

Landmark: http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Tuscan%20Hills/91/156/24