By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

The goldenrod is yellow,
The corn is turning brown...
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.

I know the lands are lit, with all the autumn blaze of Goldenrod.

But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.

[T]hat old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, obligations gathering, books and football in the air ... Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last year's mistakes had been wiped clean by summer.

There is a time in the last few days of summer when the ripeness of autumn fills the air.