Today is September 7, 2011, 79th day of summer. 15 days of summer remain. Less yellow in sunshine. Less blue in sky.

Tuesday, our temperature escalated to 75 degrees Fahrenheit, a warm enough for comfort temperature. Our night temperature lost more than forty degrees, descending to 43 degrees Fahrenheit. This is the pulse of our late summer season. Sidewalks swell with daytime heat. The concrete shrinks with evening coolness. One should look for cracks. I haven't been outside long enough to give you a good report on seasonal signs. I'll be buzzing around outside well enough to give you an update later. I saw people in coats and hats last night, strolling downtown Grand Haven. I haven't forgotten Thursday night of last week, walking around Holland on a hot night with Texas style hotness. The children could still enjoy playing with the waterscape near the art center. I guess some children see that waterscape and just plunge into it, street clothes as good as a bathing suit. I am wondering when the three or four day blow will occur, when the wind churns the waves and crashes down the season, assisted by rains that hasten leaves to turn orange, red and yellow. I have just now remembered. This was to be the year when I fought erection of snow fence upon Pere Marquette before Indian Summer. I feel myself cringe to think of the crews driving in the stakes. The sand begins to accumulate quickly, creating small piles where slats slow down winds. The texture and shadows fascinate photographers, who love the form of sand hills too. These sand hills grow taller than a man by time winter finishes its sandhogging. I regret how few times I swam this summer in the big lake. Every summer has its main pursuit. One summer I ran like an idiot, eight to ten miles a day. One summer, I played gold. Another summer, I ran like a more sane idiot, only three miles a day. Another summer, I cycled everywhere. Another summer, I drove around Great Lakes, including Huron, Erie and St. Clair. Every summer had its passion. Another summer, I sailed on ferries to the islands of the Erie Archipelago and those in the Straits of Mackinac. This summer, I took long walks around our lakeside towns. Walking is still a valid way to engage the evening and the village in summer. I envy the wildness of the kiteboarders and the forcefulness of those who take cycling adventures together, clubs of Harley riders.