The broader aspects of the weather are more apparent to my kind of receptiveness, which is less mortally tuned to degrees than a grasshopper. There is still an abnormal amount of rain as the month goes on. Their sun blotted out, many tourists have left the Cape earlier than usual. I notice that the days are shorter and cooler. The prevailing wind, southwest in fair weather, southeast before a storm, blows gently, or in gusts when it rains. A big mud puddle on our wood road has collected a whole population of green frogs. At night there is great frog carnage on the wet highways. I have noticed in the past that this is their season for traveling, whether it is wet or dry, but heavy rains encourage their migration, sending them far and wide. There is a multitude of garden toads around the house. One night it cools down to about 50 degrees and in the dawn hour the leaves are bluish gray with dew. A hurricane, spawned in the Bahamas, is two hundred miles east of Florida, but beginning to turn slightly to the north, away from the eastern seaboard. High seas are predicted in three or four days’ time. I feel as though we were hesitating on the brink of new necessities, swinging between one resolution and another not yet found. The season is beginning to join the winds. Some migrant birds have already flown away. Other birds fly through the leaf canopy feeding seriously and silently. A warbler, a female yellow-throat, skips lightly along a patch of briar and vines. A brilliant oriole jumps into a patch of oaks and moves on down sunlight-yellow ramps of leaves, and a black-billed cuckoo, a large brown bird with a handsome, long tail, stops in on a branch with a look of eagerness and seeking, then flashes off again. There is a change in their action and timing. The adults are long since through with the claiming and proclaiming that rang in the woods before they nested. The steady, constant business of feeding their young is about over for most species, though I see a flicker, or yellowhammer, come through the trees in diving, shooting flight, with a young one following loudly after it. There are many fledglings, but on the whole the birds, many of them starting to molt, are silent compared with spring and early summer. [Illustration]