9:15 A.M. Sunday. Sun and blue skies have returned after taking all day yesterday off. Chilly. Barely 50. A breeze that comes and goes. We’re not past peak foliage yet but leaves are dropping. When the breeze picks up, leaves swirl and fall, and there are rust colored blankets at the bases of maple trees, brown drifts at the edges of the road, and raked piles of pale gold and fading red waiting to be bagged dotting lawns here and there . The air is aromatic with that distinctive tangy whiff of fall, acrid, earthy, a hint of burning, the slow fire of decay that somehow still smells of life.