It’s a glorious Saturday in eastern Massachusetts. The sky is a shade of blue that only exists in October. The sunshine cuts a swath of warmth through the cool, autumn air. All while the local wildlife runs amok.

The assorted fauna isn’t fooled by the azure sky, candy-colored leaves, and fragile warmth. They understand Mother Nature’s cypher and heed her warning. Winter is but a northerly gale away.

As I sit on the deck overlooking the yard, there are dozens upon dozens of birds flitting about. Some are migrating south in groups while those who live here year-round declare their territorial rights with sharp warning calls. The blue jays are the most insistent while the robins seem to be content stopping for a snack and moving on.

The squirrels and chipmunks frantically dart across the lawn and pass among the tree branches with acrobatic alacrity. They bark, screech, and chirp at each other from the treetops. Eavesdropping from my chair, I wonder how much of the chatter is argument and how much is planning.

The sun will set at 6:11 PM. The menagerie only have a few hours to finish what they planned for today. The robins will be off to their next destination further south. The squirrels will hunker down in their nests. And one of these days, the chipmunks will go underground for a night that lasts until spring.

It’s half past three o’clock. Suddenly, I need a sweater. The sun has already fallen behind the trees. While its light remains, its warmth has quickly slipped away. A week ago, the aroma from barbecue grills filled the air at this time of day. In another week it will be the woodsmoke from neighboring hearths.

To every thing there is a season. Today I witnessed the turn.

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