Friday a few weeks ago, our thermometer had a dispute with the calendar. Despite the latter’s resolute insistence, the former, beaming a happy 92 degrees, refused to concede what the calendar tells us to be true: that the fall is now upon us. The thermometer’s friends will soon turn against him. The radiant sun, gleefully warming his expanding coils for months, will turn down her thermostat; her rays will render long, eerie shadows of men, trees and buildings.
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