Repose.

Monet, Haystacks, End of Summer, 1891

SONG of the TRAVELLER at EVENING

Over all the hills now,

Repose.

In all the trees now

Shows

Barely a breath. Birds are through

That sang in their wood to the west.

Only wait, traveller. Rest

Soon for you too.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Good riddance, Summer.  Now, on to the grand and glorious Oyster Months.