But the evenings of summer, or near summer, are also for watching the stars come out and listening to the last chirps of the birds and the first chirps of the crickets. I'll do that now. Maybe I'll water the jasmine, too. It ought to bloom any night now. Then the season will be accomplished.
The Night, The Porch
by Mark Strand
To stare at nothing is to learn by heart
What all of us will be swept into, and baring oneself
To the wind is feeling the ungraspable somewhere close by.
Trees can sway or be still. Day or night can be what they wish.
What we desire, more than a season or weather, is the comfort
Of being strangers, at least to ourselves. This is the crux
Of the matter, which is why even now we seem to be waiting
For something whose appearance would be its vanishing—
The sound, say, of a few leaves falling, or just one leaf,
Or less. There is no end to what we can learn. The book out there
Tells us much, and was never written with us in mind.