I start to think of traveling, of a journey of a few months, a there-and-back-again across the country. I'm like Bilbo and Frodo: autumn always puts me in mind of traveling. It's not time yet. At least a year away, probably more. I want to travel alone with my table, doing massage in return for a couch to sleep on and breakfast in the morning. Meeting people I've known in my cyberhood for years, but who are scattered hither and yon across the continent; and making at least one more long road trip across the North America. It's an indulgence, of course, environmentally speaking, to travel when you don't have to, but what's the point of living before peak-oil, if you don't bust loose every once in a while? Nothing I do or refrain from doing will stop the plunge. Travel of this sort may not be within the means of ordinary people very much longer.
Autumn: the autumn of the year, the autumn of my country, the autumn of my species. It's a good time for traveling.