Two days ago the temps nearly hit 80 degrees. The sun was hot and T-shirts were the required wear. My roses exploded into color. A few seeds left behind in my garden took root. It was lemonade time. The air was filled with the aroma of barbecue from a dozen backyards.
And suddenly...
it was grasped away.
A sweater was needed on my nightly walks. The wind picked up leaves and smacked them onto my jeans. My dog trembled slightly in the chill.
We call it, strawberry autumn. It happens in the time of the Hunter moon.

My wife heats the apple cider and plops in a stick of cinnamon or vanilla. She pours a generous amount of rum into her cup and stirs in the hot concoction.
We lit a log...perhaps the first in the neighborhood. The smell of pine smoke drifted down the block.

Our food is preserved. Our jam is being wrapped as gifts. We make notes about next year's garden.

It's strawberry autumn. A good time to be in love.