Two nights ago we had a string of thunderstorms that lasted for several hours; when they finally rumbled their way out to sea the air was different. Damp, cool. Extra blanket on the bed, yessir.
In the morning instead of the sulky heat of the past few weeks, it felt more like August than mid-July. Almost chilly, crisp. Put me in mind of sweaters and sneakers across the wet grass.
I thought then, we've turned that corner from high summer into whatever the next stage is, chilly mornings, hot clear days. August weather, yessah.
Saw a doe and her new fawn yesterday morning. Barely visible behind the tall grass, obviously very new. We have a batch of does that for some reason do not produce fawns until mid to late July, rather than in early June. When I first saw a spotted fawn at this time of year years ago I never thought it would make it through the winter--and somehow, they do. Their size and age might be in their favor, actually. They require less food, they are lighter on the snow, and I suspect the herd watches out for them more.
I dunno. Nature seems to look after its own--and what survives is stronger.