Dusk before eight o'clock pleases me. Little patches of deepening sky revealed through the gradually thinning canopy of leaves please me. The emerging crescent moon pleases me most of all. I can feel the heat radiating from the pavements, gathered skyward by the welcome night. Far to the north, a gap in the trees reveals a dark cloud bank hovering over the mountains, but here the moon hangs in clear sky, and the first faint shadows appear where its light is blocked by the trees. Soon, I will go out and watch the stars, and later I will see Orion rise from the oak wood. The night will smell of arid, brown fields, but only for a little longer. I can feel summer fading at last. That, too, pleases me.