Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

A few days ago I wrote about the shortening daylight as we inch toward the end of summer. I assume it’s pretty much the same each summer, with days becoming shorter more or less at the same rate every year.

But this summer there are other, more disparate signs that autumn will come early. Not the autumn date of calendar fame, but the one that the Farmer’s Almanac might report.

After the lawn mower man was finished last Wednesday he left a carpet of clean green in his wake, but by the next morning there were blotches of leaves here and there. Not big ones, but noticeable. The sycamores, in particular, had loosened their first rainfall of brittle brown leaves. Soon it will be an avalanche.

When the leaves really begin to fall, they cover the river to the point where I wonder if they will absorb all the water in it. Shards of gold and red and brown blend together and look like a moving tapestry heading to Lake Michigan six miles down the waterway.

Other early autumn signs abound. The bird life that entertained us all summer has suddenly disappeared. The day lilies are no longer blooming. Even the mosquitoes have lost their enthusiasm. And, last night for the first time, we slept with the windows closed.