I know, I know, it’s that time of year again — the first string of geese flew overhead as I thinned lettuce this morning; this evening as I picked beans, light slanted long shadows across the field and the air took a sudden chill. There’s no mistake about fall’s inexorable approach. No calendar needed, nor sounds of football game, marching band, school bell. It’s in the sunflowers heavy with seed flopping over beneath the weight of feasting squirrels. It’s in the garden chatter turning all chickadee, blue jay, goldfinch.