Blackbird flock, Mame's

Following the arrival of the first killing frost several days ago, it was time to hope that there'd be a sharp rise in the temperature and the resulting hazy, balmy days would signal the advent of the most delicious weather that a New England autumn can offer: the so-called "Indian summer." No one is really sure what Native Americans had to do with the brief period of almost unnatural warmth, but the name was coined in the late-18th-century and it stuck. Summer's second and, no doubt, final act, arrived today, and it flew in on the noisy wings of local blackbirds, a flock of which pulsed through the woods and landed on my neighbor's driveway. The weather harbingers gathered on the gravel and seemed to be searching for something to eat. I don't think they found much, so they soon departed. Happily, they didn't take the fine weather with them.