It is early in June that we again become besotted with light, the longer into the evening the better. The red ball that rises earlier each crisp morning turns golden and gilds the Island, then suffuses the day with piercing clarity until it departs in a rainbow of farewell beyond Aquinnah. The smell of honeysuckle and the pale glory of Russian olive have combined for heady perfumes and the pollen that torments those among us susceptible to allergies. The time to cut hay is at hand, wild mint, beach plum and wild roses are daily more evident. Sudden clusters of heart-stopping buttercups make mowing the lawn seem almost like a crime against nature.