Islanders know the signs of August. When the roses are past their prime, when black-eyed Susans, queen Anne's lace and rose of Sharon begin to bloom, when the striped bass move into deeper water and the bonito begin to run — that’s August. When sweet corn, tomatoes, peppers and eggplant ripen in farm fields, when crowds thicken and traffic gridlock grips down-Island towns, when the beaches are full at high noon, when the sunset floods the far horizon in flaming pinks and reds and shooting stars streak across the night sky — that’s August.