Bull frogs thunk their percussive songs; a screech owl calls from deep in the woods. In the garden black-eyed Susans and rose of Sharon fold up their blooms against the darkness. A stiff southwest breeze keeps the heat at bay, but even through the gusts a sticky blanket of humidity settles thickly. At the water's edge feeding fish break the surface with small splashes — smiling, perhaps, at the fisherman who got away.

August is at the halfway mark, and the nights are soft and full of quiet wonder.