Autumn is barely discernible, only a slight chill in the air, only a few leaves beginning to turn and yet it's everywhere--I pass pumpkin patches on every road I turn down and even find the colorful squashes being sold at nearly every storefront and their scent and flavor added to each treat. Yet, we're adding layers in socks and sweaters and scarves; switching our sandals for closed-toed shoes and finding the boots we had forgotten about in the backs of our closets on warmer days. Despite all our commercialization and the autumn-craze around every corner, it is a short season. One day summer is with us and then over night, the warmth has gone out of the sun. It still shines down, bright and clear, but leaving the house without an extra layer is inadvisable. The trees change color, the sun begins to set earlier, and pumpkin flavored whoopie pies aren't the only indication of harvest and a shift in seasonal crops. Then, just as you are adjusting to the new chill--winter sweeps in. A regal entry to be sure, making trees shiver and scattering their dead leaves in her wake. Autumn had the short life of a candle, snuffed out with a whisper of wind and blanket of snow. I suppose it is no wonder we celebrate it so intensely; we do like to cling to things that won't last.