Summer 2020 was already a strenuously iffy prospect, but it feels like Isaias effectively broke its already flimsy back. It happens around this point in every summer -- the light changes. The air feels different. The weight of the day become thinner.
Back out here in on Long Island, Isaias ripped down a bunch of trees, threw branches all over the place and littered every patch of ground with a premature patina of dead leaves. The summery sense of "we still have time to do these fun things" now feels more like a resigned countdown to whatever's coming next.
Cue Don Henley.
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