As the last whisps of summer condense into the mists of autumn,
Far horizons are obscure and sharp colours muted,
Nights on the town become evenings round the fire,
Rush and hurry becomes slow and simple,
Time to take things easy,
To break out warm clothing; warm food and rich ales,
The days still defy the impending season with flashes of warmth,
But it’s a losing battle.
Only a matter of time.