August~ The month that announces Fall. Low, damp fingers of fog hold to blades of field grass wet with dew. The air is warm, but holds that chip on it’s shoulder, that soon the chill will bring the frost and old Jack will nip the nodding heads of summer’s last blooms.
August~ Kids holding on to the freedom of all day jaunts to the beach and long games of Monopoly in the shade. The puppy, worn out from constant attention, is lost in the thicket of poppies and spent peonies.
August~ This grammie gets a little misty, knowing even in my happy exhaustion, that there is more to squeeze from these last summer days. School starts soon, I’ll have days, but no companions, save a lonesome puppy. School, homework, activities and the hands on the clock keep going around and the pages of the calendar flip the months away.
August~ It holds us, suspended in sticky heat, as gardens grow and berries ripen. It whispers, “This, too shall pass.” as the breeze rustles silvery, dry cottonwood leaves. I know it’s true. It’s fifty Augusts since I held my nose and plunged from the big rock into the cold, dark water of the Pilchuck River below the Dubuque Bridge. Fifty Augusts since I shopped for school clothes on Colby Avenue; Chaffee’s, Miller’s, JC Penney, Anita Shop…
August~ A month to take stock and stock up. The pioneers looked to larders and root cellars, knowing cold and barren months lay ahead. My pantry is just fine, and Safeway is at the end of my country road. My ‘taking stock’ is more of a rhetorical kind. In the pantry of my heart there are shelves full of boxes neatly labeled, ‘Trip to Index’, ‘Walkabout Deception Falls’, ‘Fort Casey 2017’. There are some papers, messy and scribbled, “He’s touching me!” “Are we there yet??” and my not always patient response scrawled across in red ink. These I think I’ll jam in a folder, or better yet, recycle. August can keep those secrets, it’s three weeks until school starts and I’ve got some stocking up to do.
Peace~
Porch Songs~ 