Late August. Always a sad time for me: summer winding down; back to real life. Solitude ending. This is my last few days in Maine; I'll head back to Massachusetts next Thursday, a week from tomorrow. It seems as if I just arrived.

Here is an ominous sky; it is thunderstorm season:

And here is the last of the basil. I just picked this and will make pesto for the freezer:

And here is Alfie, newly bathed, his humidity-matted hair (yes, he has hair,not fur) all thinned by Cheryl, the wonderful, patient groomer, who ended up with enough on her floor to stuff a mattress:

My upcoming weekend company has had to cancel, but my son and grandsons will be here, and we will be tidying things up for fall: putting the boat in the barn, the AC's out of the windows. Ordinarily I come up here a lot in the fall---it's my favorite time of year here---but this year I have a lot of trips to make: San Francisco, Idaho, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, NYC, Albany and Rochester, then Paris and Germany in November and early December.

Lots of writing to continue as well. I have three books waiting for publication and another three or four in the works.

And one more photo: my grandsons at the top (3000 feet) of Mt. Tumbledown, which they climbed last weekend:

They were justifiably proud of having climbed it by the difficult trail. (They came down the easier way)