After the days have long drawn in upon themselves, and the White Witch has cast her somnambulant spell over Smallpeace, I will remember these things about summer in no particular order:
The heady, black pepper and anise scent of Ooms Pond; the fields of rough-stemmed Goldenrod, Purple Loosestrife, and Queen Anne’s lace;
the soundless Monarchs that accompany us on our morning walks, flashing their wings of colored glass; the rubber-boot squawk of the toads in frog pond;
the Bald Eagle soaring over Queechy Lake—yes, I’m sure that’s what we saw; and the ripe, ripe light of late August. Oh, the light.