The morning is breezy and chilly, and the sun, in its fall course, has drifted away from the deck so I read my papers inside this morning. I missed the deck and all its comings and goings, but from my perch here by the window, I can still watch the birds at one of the feeders. The sun is bright but not warm. It peeks in and out from behind a couple of clouds. The rest of the sky is a deep blue. It is an autumn day, no denying it.

The end of summer brings a sameness to my life. It’s happens every year. It’s just a fact, an unlamented fact. Life quiets down and loses some spontaneity. The weather gets colder, and the deck becomes a desolate place in winter. I venture outside only to fill the feeders. Chairs and tables are covered. The candles are stored away in bins. The aroma of basil from the deck planters is no longer borne on the breeze.

With the change in season, the house becomes my refuge from the cold. I stay by myself more. I plan trips I may never take. It’s the planning I enjoy. I read, sometimes all day. Nothing is better than a book you just can’t put down. Some days I stay in flannel cozies and slippers. I nap on the couch under a warm, comfy afghan. I feel content with my lot. It’s far different than summer but no less satisfying.

I’m sorry to see the summer go as it was a grand one, but I’m just fine with the coming of fall, and I don’t really mind winter all that much. It’s that sameness I mentioned. It’s comfortable in the cold.