From Summer's EndWhat we have is enough. It's more than we consciously realized.

In the dog days, when Altair and Denebset toward western waters, Vegaflaring in their starry wake, the choirof peepers and crickets melds liquidto languid; the first maple leaves ripenand curl to red fists; pine needles spreadgold scripture across the water;nuthatch feet circle tree trunks--gentle scrivenersscribing the dawn of dying days.