I thought of this driving to work this morning:

SONNET 73
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

I know that it is a metaphor and has meaning beyond the literal, but passing by trees that a week ago had many leaves just starting to turn, and noticing that I didn't see many birds, I couldn't help but think of the lines:

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

This is one of the first Shakespearean sonnets I remember reading. I think I was in 8th or 9th grade. I can't imagine that I had a clue about its meaning. I recently bought Bill Bryson's Shakespeare: The World as Stage. Though it is short, I haven't had time to begin reading it yet.

The cold weather has arrived prompting me to find my hat & gloves at the back of the closet. There's not a spot on my driveway not covered with leaves. Family plans for Thanksgiving have been set. The sandhill crane count this week at their Northern Indiana stopover is >9000. The furnace has been turned on. Yes, it's definitely Fall.