During the long month of August, summer can seem almost without end. The memory of winter has receded just enough that we can trick ourselves into thinking that time is suspended. Then comes a cold night that puts the furnace or the wood stove to work, and the first color in the trees. It reminds us that not only is summer passing, but so are they days we’re given to mark the seasons’ changing. Here’s a reflection on autumn in Vermont and time’s passage by writer Howard Coffin.