The perturbed night air twists and eddies, and is filled with the sound of dry leaves and the smell of wood smoke. Late summer has reclaimed the afternoons, for a while, but autumn keeps the nights. The cricket failed to chirp. Venus glows in the southwest, amid a scattering of twinkling stars. The waning moon will not rise for hours. It's easy to sense the approach of December. I stand watching the sky for a few minutes, and listening to the moans of the pines, and then I go indoors to make the teakettle whistle. It's going to be a very chilly night.