That sliver of waxing moon silhouetting the pine branches reminds me of a melon rind. Now that the sky is clear the night can turn cold and I can grow nostalgic for those vanished summer days I found so oppressive scant weeks ago. There was a particular crenshaw melon I had last summer that was of almost exactly that pale orange gold color the setting moon-slice shows tonight, and alone it was enough to make its hot summer afternoon seem as cool as this November evening, for a few moments. Like the melon, summer is gone, but its brown and gold remains lie on the ground in leaves soon to be burned or to molder away in heaps to scent the chilly months. The rounded moon will be back before the new leaves grow, of course, and long before another season's ripe melons appear, but for the moment the sight of its rind makes the chilly autumn night seem as warm as a summer afternoon.