Our story tonight is called Autumn World, and it’s a story about a morning with the windows open and fresh fall air blowing through the house. It’s also about crows cawing in a field, coffee and brown sugar, yesterday’s raindrops falling from the trees, a record playing on the turntable, and the feeling of renewal that comes as summer ends.

Our story tonight is called Sleeping Weather, and it’s a story about a break from the heat and humidity. It’s also about the view from the porch swing at night, deer walking quietly through the corn fields, and clearing your mind with paper and pen, and the end of the day.

Our story tonight is called The Swim Platform, and it’s a story about one of the last swims of the season. It’s also about remembered cues from long ago diving lessons, the sound of water lapping against boards, swans and sidestrokes, the smell of varnish and the feel of sun on chilled skin, and a unhurried perfect moment savored before the fall.

Our story tonight is called Summer Harvest, and it’s a story about the result of a season’s worth of hard work and planning. It’s also about telling time like a farmer would, a red popsicle eaten under a maple tree, and rows of canned tomatoes neatly lined up in the pantry.

Our story tonight is called New Path, and it’s a story about a late-summer stroll through high grasses and shaded glens. It’s also about coneflowers and crushed stone, lifting the hair from the back of your neck to feel the breeze, an eagle’s nest lined with moss, a cool creek to wash your hands in, and feeling welcomed and at home in the wild.

Our story tonight is called The Corner Store, and it’s a story about the aisles of the neighborhood grocery where there are always interesting things to discover. It’s also about a display of school supplies, a recipe from a neighbor, and the feeling of belonging in a particular place.

Our story tonight is called Early Signs of Autumn, and it’s a story about turning leaves and a slight spicy scent on the breeze. It’s also about zucchini bread and hot coffees traded for iced, school supplies and new mysteries at the bookshop, orange candles, shifting evening light, and excitement for new experiences to come.

Our story tonight is called Yard Sale, or, Another Man’s Treasure, and it’s a story about a neighborhood event on a summer day. It’s also about sidewalk chalk art, a collection of salt and pepper shakers, and red petunias growing in a flower box.

Our story tonight is called The Journal, and it’s a story about the blank pages of a beautiful book, and the freedom to finally write in them, no matter what comes from your pen. It’s also about tonic water and espresso, deep breaths in child’s pose, a garden at midnight, and small prompts reminding us to let go of some things and dive deeper into others.

Our story tonight is called The Labyrinth, and it’s a story about a slow walk on a gravel path in mid-summer. It’s also about hidden places, unseen acts of kindness, the way cats sit in their windows, and always looking for magic.

Our story tonight is called Pool Day, and it’s a story about a cool dip in the water on a hot summer day. It’s also about the tiled walls of the changing rooms, broad open umbrellas, and rows of lounge chairs. A book by your side, droplets on your skin, and the heavy sleep that swallows you up after a day in the sun and water.

Our story tonight is called Beach Walk, and it’s a story about meeting the morning light where the water meets the land. It’s also about the first step into the cool water, a dog chasing a stick into the waves, and a beach towel laid out neatly in the sand.

Our story tonight is called Sidewalk Chalk, and it’s a story about a journey through the park on a bright day. It’s also about a cold drink from the coffee shop, a frog blinking from a pond, Alice and the Caterpillar, birch trees, and drawings on the sidewalk, and paying more attention when small happy moments wash over you.

Our story tonight is called At the Summer Fair, and it’s a story about a yearly tradition, and how it changes in the different summers of your life. It’s also about plums taken from the icebox, a handmade cup wrapped in paper, and strolling along the river as the streetlights blink on above you.

Our story tonight is called Rainy Day Rituals, and it’s a story about small tasks attended to as a storm blows through. It’s also about a fuzzy radio playing in the background, terrycloth and tidily-folded towels. Thunder and lightning, flickering lights and candle flames, and allowing yourself to do less and enjoy more.

Our story tonight is called Back to the Bakery, and it’s a story about the early morning preparations made in the kitchen before the Village of Nothing Much wakes. It’s also about a kitty with a crooked tail, hot donuts set out on a tray, and a summer pick-me-up made with love.

Our story tonight is called Street Sweepers, and it’s a story about an early morning tending of the village lanes. It’s also about hoppers and windrows, zinnia heads and locust pods, clearing small floods near blocked up drains, and a simple but important way to care for a place you love.

Our story tonight is called When the Streetlights Come On, and it’s a story about a trip to the mailbox through the last lit moments of the day. It’s also about bikes being wheeled into the garage for the night, things learned from the farmer’s almanac, layers of paint peeling away under your hand, and a tender way to shepherded home and sent to dreamland.

Our story tonight is called The Evening of the 4th, and it’s a story about a day-long event that ends with a picnic and a concert on the grass. It’s also about hand pies and potato salad, a busy kitchen full of aproned volunteers, and the sound of the instruments tuning up on the patio. Thyme and lemon zest, and the satisfaction of sharing good times with your neighbors.

Our story tonight is called Heirloom, and it’s a story about a garden in the middle of summer. It’s also about things handed down through generations, making and keeping friends of all ages, and a stack of farmer’s almanacs in the quiet corner of a shed.