The night air has been chilled to sweater-wearing temperature. I didn't wear one, though. This summer has made a temporary luxury of being cold. I've enjoyed the chance to feel the occasional shiver while watching the moon and stars. All the insects fell silent not long after midnight, and no breeze has stirred the pines. The sleeping town produced the rare sound of a car passing along some otherwise deserted road, and a dog barked now and then, but these infrequent intrusions on the serenity might as well have come from some other world, so distant did they seem. I watched red Mars rise to near its zenith before the first hint of paleness entered the eastern sky. Then, the early rising neighbor across the street lit her porch light and drove off to wherever it is she goes each dark morning. Finding the world inhabited again, I returned indoors. The shaft of light escaping my front door disturbed a large moth which fluttered about for a moment and then vanished into the last, fading darkness, like an image from a dream bound to be forgotten.