As I write, that magical and fleeting stretch of New England weather that begins sometime in September and ends sometime in October is upon us. The air is crisp. The stinging morning cold strikes your face like a boxer’s landing blow. Momentarily jarred, it takes a second to register this strange phenomenon, this thing cold. You shrug, knowing that come brunchtime, remnants of Summer will again regain the upper hand… for a few hours at least.
