THE END OF SUMMER

The last flowers from the garden.
Hammocks back into the garage, herbs harvested, hanging baskets waiting to be carried off to the dump.  Chimney sweeps came today so the fireplace is ready for tomorrow nights low in the teens.
As befitting a slight preference to introversion, I do not mind this insular time but I am in a significant minority.  In fact, I have never met anyone who actually likes November.  This is only early October but somehow November seems to loom.