Lack of rain hastens the end of the cycle for the trees. Acorns fall like little bullets from the sky, exploding on the roof, a sharp noise in the night. The leaves waft downward. Already brown, and quite crisped, in many cases. A funny year–spring crept in late, summer’s furnace never quite hit its peak (though nights stayed unusually warm), and now fall comes early because of drought. And even onwards light spills paths across the wood.