The beginning of autumn is generally nice. The poet John Keats had a phrase for that period — “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.” But as Mr. Fall gets his teeth into it, hits the meteorological gas pedal so to speak, and sends out a clear invitation to Mr. Winter — well, in Canada anyway, it ain’t mellow by a long shot. Short days, long nights, chill winds, early snows — mid to the end of November in most places here is like a movie preview of the harder days of February.
