Why do so many people love autumn? It's the color, some say. It's the brisk air, say others. It's Halloween and Thanksgiving, candy corn and pumpkin pie. It's all about the orange. But I don't think that's the real reason that autumn is my favorite season. I think that autumn is the season when introverts come into their own.

Yesterday Jim, my wood man, delivered another half cord which should see me through most of the winter. I don't use the wood stove nearly as much as I once did, but it was good to see Jim again. He's a good guy. We stripped the tarps off the dwindling pile from last year, swept the duff of 2014 away and laid them out in the sun to dry, before he piled the wood two rows deep and about four feet high.

Last week, a day after my last summer guests had left and the day before the first rains came down, the housebuddy and I put the cushions from the patio furniture away and furled the table umbrella. The leaves haven't started to come down just yet, but when they do it will take the better part of November to bin them up for the compost truck. I'm looking forward to it.

From spring into summer, windows and doors are opened, the patio furniture comes out, the umbrella is unfurled. Guests arrive, parties are attended, there are places to go, people to see, things to do. We are asked to open our hearts and our lives to the world and, to the best of our ability, we do so. We are glad you came, we are happy we went, we will see you next year.

But now it's autumn, and we close the windows and bring things inside. We get ready for winter. We will see you now and then at the holidays, but in the meantime the air is brisk in the mornings when I feed the birds, I have wood to burn on cold, rainy nights, and no one is coming to visit. I've pulled in my horns, pulled out my fuzzy socks, and pulled up the covers. I've got an orange sweater around here someplace. It's my time of year.