The tops of the trees turn to gold when the sun sets in Annisquam. In the valley where we live the shadows deepen lengthen faster than on the shore. And the wind whistles down Leonard Street following the path of the glacier that carved it out. Here is a particular air of withdrawal and grace in spite of the wind which blows from the sea proving the return of the sun at midday tomorrow when the shadows and the wind are short. The glacier is remembered.