Three days before the real world begins again and snaps us up with its giant zig zag grip of organized days and hours labeled with to do items. The last sweet days of summer meant to be filled with hyaciinth and jasmine, mustard and ketchup, cats and dogs, loud and soft, bitter and sweet, all jumbled together to make a memory. Where to go? What to do? An almost desperate need to hold on to the moon’s edge and dangle over summer night, dipping toes into the summer lake of dreams, walking barefoot over the sharp beach pebbles and feeling the last sweet breath of the night jasmine over the arbor in the meadow. Why not lie in the fragrant hay field and keep still for an hour watching the small ant colony pack up their wares and get ready for the move south? Split open a watermelon and suck the sweet juice from the corners while counting the small black seeds like many eyes upon your face. Make a costume for your dog out of scraps of felt and let them walk you in the parade on Main Street even if there is no parade. Have a Dusty Miller and be grateful for malt and coffee ice cream. When the dark hour of the day appears shine a light on your memory and wash out everything there but joy.