Warning!!! I don't know why I felt the need to explain August and what it does to me each year. If for nothing else, August makes one long for fall days, days that are cooler and with more color. August tests me with its rush to finish up the summer. I usually wax poetical trying to relieve myself of some deep inner sadness. Realize there is truly no hidden meaning in these words that feebly explain this dry, drab month of the year.
She is bone dry in spirit; like a well that has no water.
A well that is waiting for blessed relief from feeling cracked and brittle.
It waits and hopes that once again water will flow, trickling And gurgling and splashing with its wet noise of joy.
Why is dry sadness and wet gladness?
Why is the mountain top victory and the desert death?
Grass breaks beneath her feet, no longer green and soft.
Sunflowers hang their dried heads along the fence line, tired of shining brilliant and gold.
Everything is thirsty and wants a drink. She wants to be like the sunflowers, to hang her head and be done with brilliancy and 'goldenness.'
A time of rest and 'just be'; dormant maybe, like fall plants.
In August one learns to wait...for relief of the heat and dry and tired.
Now... you who enjoy writing... you may critique this bit of whatever it is and tell me what you heard or felt...or if you didn't...