Ryan Adams and I go back to his Whiskeytown days (meaning: I started listening to him in 1995, while Ryan, well, he doesn't know who I am). Since going solo in 2000, he's taken a careening run through 27* genres of music over the course of 323* albums (these are estimates, but Ryan's made a lot of music).
He also just released a song-by-song cover of Taylor Swift's entire 1989 album.
Although his albums Heartbreaker and Gold are damn near perfect as they sit, I've built a lot of Ryan Adams playlists over the years; reconfigured super albums based on whatever emotional/spiritual jag I happened to be on at the time. (I do the same thing with Prince, another prolific guy who I'm sure would also hate me for re-sequencing his work, but, alas, another guy who also doesn't know who I am.)
Ryan's a man of many moods. I might suggest this mellow sampler when you're sipping bourbon by a late fall fire, wistfully.
As fortold, in my neck of the woods many of the docks have already been brought in. These early removals are primarily the work of busy-bodies, non-fisherman, and wakeboarders that don't own wetsuits. Eventually though, things get real. As October shifts into November, it takes a gambler's mettle to leave a dock out for one more day. Things can swing from 70° F to 35° F-ed, overnight. Still though, pulling the dock in early October? These are clearly not my people.
However. My citrus grove is another story entirely. (I should mention that my "citrus grove" is a lime tree (of course) and a lemon tree which are pruned so I can fit 'em into the house for the winter. Rounding out my cocktail farm is the mint which I leave in the ground to fend for itself.)
But yes. My citrus grove. As soon as nighttime forecasts approach the 40s, the trees have to come inside. This is a non-negotiable indicator of Fall. And this was that week.
Our wonderfully extended summer has come and gone.
Today is October 1st.