From my position on the lawn, in the cool shadow cast by a young tree, I look up at the veiny underside of maple leaves. Here and there a scalloped passageway toward sky--moving across that shifting space: white cloud against dazzling blue. Glazing it all with a summer sheen: yellow sunlight. It touches me, too, at intervals. Lacy patterns move along toasted summer skin. Fine powder of salt dries in my eyelashes, in my hair. Summer winds down gently, as August moves through us, kisses us good night.