Another thin, ground-hugging night fog allows the brighter stars to shine through but wreathes nearby lights and dims the nearby town's aerial glow. When pale morning light comes, I expect to see distant trees turned to ghosts, but the fog lifts before then, leaving only a faint damp scent and a fine coat of dew on the leaves and grass. The first jay squawks the other birds awake to greet gray sky, and pavement darkened by the slight residue of moisture. The now high vapor may further rise to form clouds, or perhaps the sun, once it has cleared the eastern ridges, might disperse it altogether. Either way, the day is expected to be warmer again. The jet stream has dipped all the way down to Los Angeles, which should enjoy the pleasant coolness and puffy clouds we have lost. It looks as though no thunderstorms will arrive here this week. Ah, well. The entire autumn lies ahead. Eventually there will be rain.
This is the first night in weeks that I've heard no crickets. The other insects, with their shrill, sustained buzz are still active, but the last cricket has fallen silent. The cool air is slightly hazy and damp. The waxing moon casts pale light, revealing the empty street. More oak leaves have fallen and now crunch underfoot as I walk along the driveway. The sounds of one season give way to those of another. I say goodbye to the crickets.