Thanksgiving marks the end of one season and the beginning of another, but this year there is a distinct sense of procrastination about it all. Suddenly we are in no real hurry for winter with its hard freeze and slate-colored sea roughed up by whitecaps.

Nature agrees, and on the Vineyard autumn lingers; no need to rush to the next appointment on the calendar. Lawns are still green, herb gardens redolent with sage and rosemary, farm fields freshly turned and dusted with a fine powder of lime. Nantucket Sound is navy blue and the salt ponds lie still in the evening hush with a thousand stars splashed overhead.