. . . every thursday, a late lunch with my sister, and yesterday was not unlike any other, with the exception of the discovery of a magical and secret garden terrace for drinks and laughter, and while catching up over pear martinis to the sultry sound of late-august leaves rustling in the golden afternoon light, had wished that summer could last forever . . . on the way home, however, a reminder in all the shop windows that the crispness and energy of autumn has its own romance and must confess that the fall lookbooks in late summer are nearly as exciting as the spring books in the last of the winter days, which can only mean one thing: le changement est bon / change is good . . .