It's fall now, late fall, nearly winter. The trees have lost their stunningly beautiful leaves, and the leaf-lookers doo't clog the highways. The air is cold; and so the clothes from the line smell cold, like snow, and tangy like the drifting smoke from the chimney. Soon the ground will freeze and the spitting flurries of snow will become a whirling dance of white softness, before it settles in dark corners to wait out the winter. At night the wind howls unhappily around the corners of the house, and the woodstove is always full and burning. Christmas carols are put on the record player often, and the snow clothes are starting to appear from their summer resting quarters. Advent will start soon, and then Christmas will arrive. It's fall now; late fall, nearly winter. n