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When did you first sense it? What was your first experience of summer’s passing? What brought your attention to the season’s changing?

Several people have told me fall is in the air. I live on Valentine Road so see the Cascades on the Valley’s east side every morning. Last week the marine fog hanging on them was the first I saw since I was here in March. That was a welcome replacement of the smoke from the Canadian fires.

But my first fall notice was an end of summer sensation. Walking on Third Street toward the marina August 10, I stopped to pick black raspberries by the slough. My friend Steve flagged them for us. Now I see that these bursts of late summer are a harbinger of its end.

Patterns and rhythms. By definition, common. By common agreement, special. Many folks have told me not to spread the word about the months long sunny, gorgeous weather that settles in the Valley annually. OK, my lips are sealed. Oops.

It is a special lesson to learn and experience that the blackberries to pull are the plumpest. Not only the sweetest, but the oldest, too, ready to slide off now that they have had all the time in the sun they needed.

Of course we want more sun. But recognizing the passing of the season, the rhythm of the year, the need for rain, is part of the cycle of life, the fitting into this place and time. Our place and this present moment.