When summer fades and we drift into mists and mellow fruitfulness. The summer daze and summer haze, of long cool drinks, sipping sweet at the café in the park as kids run and shout, playing on the slides and swings, and before we stroll home, I jingle up change in my pocket, scraping together a few coins and pay my girl a ride on the carousel. And summer has faded into fall and been blown away in October storms, the carousel is quiet.