midnight
It was a gray September afternoon . The air was warm and still , and the earth lay weary , thirsty , and patient under a three-weeks drouth . Dust was thick over the grass , flowers , and trees along the roadside , and on the weed-grown fields that had brought forth their harvest for the sons of men and now , sun-scorched and desolate , seemed to say , `` Is this the end , the end of all ? '' Over the horizon there was a soft haze like smoke from the smoldering embers of summer 's dying fires , and in the west gloomed a cloud from which the thunder and the lightning would be loosed before the midnight hour ; and after the rain would come a season of gentle suns , cool dews , and frosts scarce colder than the dew -- not spring , but a memory of spring -- when the earth , looking back to her May , would send a ripple of green over the autumn fields , and , like thoughts of youth in the heart of age , the clover and the dandelion would spring into untimely bloom . `` Things look sort o ' down-hearted and discouraged , do n't they ? '' said Aunt Jane , echoing my thought . `` But jest wait till the Lord sends us the latter rain , and things 'll freshen up mightily .