...followed by Indian Summer. All across town this morning maple leaves were raining down (with a quiet clatter) in the still, cold air. By afternoon it was summery—clear sky, bright sun, and warm. The only thing missing—smoke from burning leaves, perhaps one of the most nostalgic of fragrances.

And the serviceberry, and Vi's flowering crab, have completed their terms of service. Vi's crab has been swarmed by fauna this past week and is now stripped bare. (There must be something especially tasty or nutritious in this fruit since many other crabs around town remain untouched.) And the silver lances of the budding Amalancher have now become fire-tinged foliage, about to drop. Good job, everybody.