Sandwiched between the cooler, softer edges of the fall day:
Intense, hot noons. Snapping cicadas crack
and oak leaves crunch beneath their stomping little boots.
We enjoyed one light rain, which lasted all night,
but that was last week.
I feel it coming.
The yellow jackets feverishly swarm the lunch tables;
black walnuts roll across the driveway;
still-green acorns find their way home in pockets,
caps still attached;
the basil looks tired;
morning glories creep across the breakfast room window;
and for one full day, you discover that the beach hasn’t seen fog.
While the East Coast may be feeling the cool rustle of autumn,
and the hurricane season has begun in the south,
by the subtle rhythm of the fog
and the arrival of new fruits from the garden
we can clearly guess that it’s no longer summer here in northern California.
