August

5:54 in the morning and it is still dark. The way to know that summer is ending is to feel the dark fold up on each side of the day. And soon, we know it the way the birds know it, this season will turn right over to the next. Time has settled into a pattern of waking, feeding, playing, loving. I’ve been saying the not-new-revelation all summer. This summer — the one where we have spent over ten nights in tents and at least thirty hours in canoes — is going fast.