There is a sweet sadness at this time of year,

Fractured signs of it everywhere.

Illustrating that fall gets woven from threads of late summer,

A time of covered legs and long shadows,

A footprint of summer passing by.

Cooler nights, shorter days, feathery gold and crisp blue,

Ominous big bird skies.

We, the creatures, prepare to hunker down.  But first, like most New Yorker’s, I’m very busy in the Fall, like going back to school with great enthusiasm, goals of many to be accomplished.                                                                          As we wind toward the reality of darkness and the cold, I gravitate to the shelter of lovers of life, men and women for all seasons, good books in front of fireplaces, delicious theater, heavier food and cashmere clothing, the tools that say to Old Man Winter, ‘Bring it on, it’s all good to me.  I’m just grateful to be here.’