Imperceptible. Just the other day we could picnic up here at 8 o'clock and see everything well. Now it is dusk before the hour.
On the roof, you can smell the strawberries.
The cherry tomatoes, especially Lemon Drop, still do well. But the bushes are blighted.
The light disorients me. It does not belong to summer. Times are changing. Falls plans are being laid. How to arrest what is perfect, to extend the lovely, impede the awful and prevent the inevitable? With the light come the questions.