I know it's autumn when my partner David starts cooking like he's on a mission. He trolls the aisles of the grocery store searching for bargains on red meats, large cuts like Boston butts, chuck roasts, enough for 12 although we're only two. Nothing's better than coming in to find something bubbling away on the stove; comfort foods like chili, soups or stews, casting their scent into the air. It's a primal instinct to hoard when the weather cools down, to put food by at the end of the season, making sure we're well stocked for the coming winter.

When the weather changes, it's like a rebirth. I come back to life, enjoy being outside again in the clear dry air. I'm re-energized and ready to finish up chores I've been avoiding. The dance of tree tops and leaves in the breeze, the play of light they make on everything, it's rejuvenating. Even though this is the waning season of the year, I feel new when autumn comes.

The hummingbirds zip from canna to zinnia to salvia, their bellies fat from nectar in preparation for the long journey south; "They look like ping pong balls with wings," David says. Migrating birds pass through in a flurry, stopping in to feed on dogwood berries or aphids in the vegetable garden, offering some excitement as we try to catch a glimpse and determine what confusing fall warbler or thrush they might be. Binoculars and bird book find a place on the kitchen table again. Soon the juncos will arrive.

All sorts of spiders are fattening up too, their abdomens the size of acorns, brilliant yellow or orange or pink. I marvel at their fantastic shapes and colors, at their ability to span great distances with their silks; across every walkway and driveway they lay in wait for unsuspecting insects or unlucky me, to pass by and be caught in the web.

The piles of firewood, carefully cut, split and stacked last winter to age and season to keep us warm this year, are like gold sitting out there in the lowering sunlight. The freezer is totally packed with food we grew last summer and yet we feel a desire to cram more in. Baskets of winter squash, jars of dried beans and braids of garlic decorate the kitchen. We'll whittle away at them all winter. Money in the bank.

It's cool enough again to build a small fire in the yard, sit and drink red wine, watch the stars, and grill a hunk of something. We eat then sit sleepy-eyed, not wanting to leave the dying embers. We toast our good life and a few marshmallows, then douse the coals and head for bed, to sleep the long night sleep of bears.