63°, bats are chasing a horde of mosquitos, soft, warm temperature, the brooding war-clouds make the water blacker, there are severe blue scurfs that appear in the wavelets of the clay colored arcs near the shore, it always looks like it's alive and breathing, my gray waterfront, white-sand lakeside pasture and dock, flashes of small, onyx eyes, the shotgun blast of nightjars perform their nightly dance and love to wheel high above the flickering dock lights.