Indian summer

I slept with my window open last night. It is November 7th. 

Few phrases evoke as much delight as Indian Summer. Our past couple of days have been sunny, glittering - trees with dried leaves hanging like burnished pieces of old gold. We always call it Indian summer when it gets warm again in September or October, but I read someplace, and I think it was something Tasha Tudor said, that real Indian Summer comes in November, after the frost has come, after it's been cold. This is what Gladys Taber says about it:

"When Indian summer comes, nothing indoors seems important. I must carry my breakfast tray to the terrace and eat in the wine-bright sun. There is always a haze on the hills, making them dreamlike. Perhaps it is such an enchanted time because it is a promise that another summer will come, after winter goes. Actually there is no set date for Indian summer; it comes when it is ready. Sometimes it seems to come after a cold spell in October, but it may even come around Thanksgiving. The later it comes the better, I think - like an extra dividend."

A week ago there was snow on the ground. Now, the days are in the seventies, for a little while. Wonderful.