It is still summery warm, no, actually, really hot, but September has come, and the peaches are mostly gone, done in by drought. Time then when we must bid goodbye to those soft days when one could float through a day without purpose. When a long, slow, swim was the only item on the to do list. When the peaches still dribbled juice, and ice cold lemonade resembled the nectar of the gods. But before we slide into fall–pummeled by the daily shower of acorns on the roof–a last wistful memory to get us through the cold to come. Windswept clouds, fine waves, boys with surfboards. Quintessential summer.