end of summer

• It's a full moon. I found that out when its light shone through my bedroom window at 4:00 a.m. this morning and woke me up.
• The summer is spent. Fall has not arrived yet but summer has walked off the job like a recalcitrant employee; like a runner who, lacking the heart to finish the race, just walks away. We have plants loaded with tomatoes, but they are slow to ripen without hot days and warm nights. The mornings are crispy cold and the afternoons are warm with a cool breeze, perfect for sitting under the tree but inadequate for gardening. I think I'll go outside and dig up some Day Lillies, divide them, and replant them for next spring. Maybe after winter the sun will come back with renewed vigor determined to redeem itself. I've done that after a failure, haven't you?
• I've been reading Pat Conroy's new book South of Broad, but I put it away for awhile because in the space of two days I received Newsweek, Atlantic Monthly, Harper's, and the Sun, so I'm catching up on my magazine reading before I continue the novel.
• As I peek through the blinds I notice the moon is gone, but the sun is beginning to light the sky. I think I'll put on a pot of coffee.