September came in cool, the first true cool of the year, and the lake took its autumn tone early — the water clearing to a higher blue, the leaves along the shore beginning their long decision at the tops of the maples, one branch going gold before the others committed. The garden gave up its last tomatoes in the second week, heavy and warm off the vine, and the jars went up in their full row, the pantry holding the whole summer now, the shelf twice what it had held the year before.
Benjamin came by with the season's word, the way he came at the turn of everything — the dock would want to come out before the lake decided for itself, he said, and the wood would want stacking before the snow remembered how to find the roof, and he stood at the edge of the yard looking at the oak in its first gold and said: "It's got the lake in it now. You can see it in the leaves." He nodded at the house. "And it's got something coming. I can see that too."
"It's got something coming," Aaron said.
