Apologies for getting poetic on you, but mornings like this make me think of this poem.

Forward or back
September is the turning time.
Ask the man whose livelihood
     is apples
or the one who lives for love.
 
So spreading our arms wide
we gather in September
as a cold man searching
     after firewood
before the snow
blots out the world.

Richard Wright, Close

I turn with September.