That time of year has now arrived when days pass with little change; each as clear and hot as the last, the evenings soon cooling into chilly nights. A slight blush of color has appeared in a few leaves of the dogwood trees, hinting at the brilliant splash of red they will soon display. The dusty petals of the roses are wilting, and the dried leaves of the bushes are losing their sheen. At night, I hear the acorns fall from the oaks, breaking the stillness as they rattle down the roofs of sheds and houses. Time hangs for a moment as though breathless, waiting for a sign that autumn should begin.