Islanders know the signs of August. Summer light, the smell of a breeze, the sound of cicadas, 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 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.