There was definitely a chill in the air today, a genuine sharpness that could only have said one thing: fall. The breeze was also filled with descending and increasingly drab leaves—these, and the barer and barer hardwood trees, were also undeniable signs of the progress of the season. That I'm getting more and more frantic about the too-meager state of the woodpile... and the still-too-lengthy lists of weather-dependent tasks that remain undone... is yet another tell-tale, and if all of these weren't enough to signal that November is about to get down to serious business, well, there are the Wood Ducks, the hallucinogenic males of which are now moving out of what's known as "eclipse plumage" and back into the gaudiness characteristic of the mature-guy-part of the species. Once the breeding season is over in the early summer, the males shed their brilliant courtship clothes and take on the drab plumage of their mates, but not long after the autumnal equinox, the boys get back to dazzling. At this time of year, however, it's mostly for naught, since the local females aren't really interested. Maybe, in November, it's simply a matter of ensuring male self-esteem.