Each fevered gust of breeze releases a tumble of oak leaves to swirl and skitter. Dust and bits of dandelion fluff join the noyade which clatters briefly then subsides, the heavy leaves coming to rest while the lighter seeds continue to drift on whatever stir of air remains. Everything smells so dry that the air is almost painful to breathe, but it's too early in the day to set the lawn sprinklers going. A couple of small lepidoptera are fluttering about, visiting the nearly desiccated flowers. I hear birds calling, but they are distant. The day is inducing me to nap. It wants me to lie back and watch the late light flicker through the mulberry leaves. Summer drains away, the day drains away. The light in the leaves is splendid.