The dogs and I spend more than the usual time in the park these days, and even the cat, who seldom goes out, has taken to prowling around in the backyard. Winter is coming. We're taking in the sun while we can.

I have friends who claim that fall is the best season in St. Louis. The air is crisp and fresh. The nights are perfect for sleeping. The foliage is lovely.

But to me, there is something melancholy about the season. I walk in the park and I look at the trees. As they lose their leaves, I can see which ones have nests and which don't. My heart breaks a little for the ones that don't.

Perhaps you've never felt sympathy for a tree. If you haven't, I completely understand. I often wish I weren't so, well, sappy about trees myself. Why should I care whether a tree has a nest or not? The tree doesn't. But that's what fall does to me.

Believe me, I fight it. I feel fall getting a grip on me, and I tell myself, "Stay strong. Don't look at the trees. When the birds come back in the spring, maybe they'll choose one of the empty trees for a nest."

By the way, I sometimes wonder why all the birds don't fly south. What is the point in staying put in the winter when God gave you wings?

I used to wonder the same thing about homeless men. If you're going to be homeless, why not be homeless in Santa Monica?

I've seen the homeless sleeping on the bluffs overlooking the Pacific. For that matter, the views aren't so great in Phoenix, but the winters are warm. If I had no roots, I like to think I'd sell some blood and get on a Greyhound.

One year, at about this time, I went to one of the homeless shelters and asked a worker if he knew of any men I could talk to who were planning to head to warmer weather. He shook his head. I don't think I do, he said.

I must have looked puzzled because he added that I didn't seem to understand the homeless very well. For the most part, these are not men who have made a lot of rational decisions, he explained. Many of them are incapable of making rational decisions and others are just out of the habit, he said.

That made sense.

I wonder if it still does. That is, I suspect the homeless population is changing.

As I walked to the courthouse Tuesday morning, I went past the St. Patrick Center, which is next to the newspaper. It suddenly struck me that the solidly middle-class people with whom I work are only a few steps away from the homeless. It's true. Most of us are only a pink slip away from financial disaster.

You could argue that it has always been so. I remember talking with a guy who did credit checks for a local auto dealer and I asked him, "What's the truth? Do most people have much savings?"

"No," he said. "Most people live paycheck to paycheck."

So in that sense, we have always been a job loss away from disaster. But there were two differences. First, most jobs were secure. Second, if you lost a job, you could probably get another.

No more. I know a couple who had careers in retail. Not jobs, but careers. She had a good position with Famous-Barr, and he with Sears. They both lost their jobs. No fault of their own. Consolidations, layoffs. Where are you supposed to go when the industry in which you work is contracting?

Black & Decker and Stanley are merging. When two corporate structures are merged, there are what the economists call "redundancies." There will be approximately 4,000 redundancies in this instance.

Where do these people go?

Not long ago, I spoke with a couple, both of whom had lost their jobs. I asked how they were making their mortgage payments. With our home equity line of credit, they said. Of course, that was not a long-range plan.

This economy is creating a new generation of Joads, but with no California of which to dream. Still, the weather is better out there. If I were homeless, I'd head to Santa Monica.

This is the sort of thing that autumn does to me. I think I prefer the winter.