I think I like the desolation of early Spring best of all. Autumn is mellow and full of ripening things. Autumn has rows of Mason jars on its shelves. Spring feels like a corpse with still-fresh marks of brutalization on its skin.
In a week or two these hills and fields and cuts will turn intolerably green, and the air will buzz like a transformer. But in the meantime, we have these places to imagine.