Nothing like a hurricane to make a summer complete. Talktalktalk in houses, in cars, in shops, in super markets, on tennis courts, on the air waves, on the tellee—all about the "Big Guy", Mr. Earl, who's four hundred miles wide and striding up the coast.

Yesterday the air was limp, not a puff, not a whiffle. As if the natural world had gasped. Hour by hour, the long sweltering day went down, but there was a curious hesitancy in its progress. And sometimes it came to a stop the way a great beast suddenly stops in a forest... to listen...

Cooler night. And today whatever has leaves is shaking them, bending at the waist in obvious respect. At the beach the wind is beating the flags, flinging sand grains in loungers' eyes, in sandwiches, too. He's Early all right. And he's kicking the rollers up to a height of hilarity that hasn't been seen all season.

Tomorrow he comes. Broad-shouldered Mr. Earl, the talk of the town. Kind of a sign, don't you think? A portent. Something big is coming, one of these days, maybe. Maybe. Something big with wide wings.

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