Summer is winding down. I see it in the garden. I see it on my watch, when I check the time as the sun hits the evening horizon. I feel it in the early morning air.
The bunting is down at The Gazebo back home.
Oh, August, you are bright, warm, and melancholy.
How I love you.
Julie-Ann Baumer 
Shouldn’t it be after Labor Day? When you put away your whites until after next Easter?
Faye makes the rules at The Gazebo, LP. I just obey them. We’ll see if she chimes in with her logic.