Its about that time, when mother nature is making up her mind. When the red roofs of houses seem to reflect off the white clouds trying to turn grey. When the ocean is still, as if resting from the days traffic of cruise liners, fishing boats and commercial ships. Dogs bark somewhere in the hills, where the houses are built into the brush, like they grew from the ground not built in by man. When fireflies, crickets and frogs begin to wake, or are they heard better as the sound of man dies slowly with the daylight. That is how it is at the ending of an endless tropical summer day.