August draws to a close and with it the last hope of high summer is dragged low in a succession of days comprised of milky skies that fade into ever darkening evenings. Strong winds rock the trees and shake loose; yellowing paper crisp leaves that fall to earth and lie on the ground like sadness. For their (and my) time was too short; spent waiting in vain for the summer that never would come. It was the year that went by in the rain and now heads toward autumn. Would that the golden tree fall to come should be filled with golden days of sun to end a dismal year.