Heavenward we watch without remorse; for nothing shall fall out of the sky today. All the dreams of yesterday are gone and the morrow hangs bleak and silent before us. I curse this wretched skyline for it mocks me in its grey rainment and I should not care; only I shall not see another this year. Wherefore then did you go summer of dreams? Lost to this land is light, crops fail in the field and nothing worthwhile prospers. Already set in motion is the decline of days that herald the winter and perforce we may gain a small, sweet reward at the end before the storms come. Yet it shall be no more than a trifle compared with the bounty lost. Summer is past so we must devolve unto winter.