We're coming down to the last days of summer. I live in Montana, where there are distinctly four seasons. This year, summer was a long time coming. And when fall arrives, we all hold our breath, hoping that it won't be a big bad fire season. We've had a few fires this year - thankfully not like it was a few years back. That year, the air was so smoky that I came down with pneumonia. This year, we've had some hazy skies, but the autumn days have been gloriously cool at night, warm during the day. This is my favorite season. The leaves are just starting to yellow up a bit, and while we haven't had frost yet, I annually hope for a nice Indian Summer. I'm not sure how anyone else defines that, but to me, it means that we get a good hard frost - maybe even a first snowfall, and then the weather returns to a week or three of that sweet mellowness that defines a fall day. I used to teach school, and after I left education, it was a long time before fall seemed normal again. Back to school was more than a sale at Penney's. It was a season, an event, a state of mind. Now, I just enjoy the days. They're numbered, you know.