It Is Always August
It is always August.
If time would stop, it would stand still
Under the dog star
Winter lingers, but all of that season is labor
Boots, gloves, scarves and coats
Off and on, on and off
Snow shovels and firewood
What shivering creature stops to contemplate a grey sky?
We spend March and April longing for June
And in May we are ecstatic and the days pass
Almost without our knowing
July is full swing
Long-planned travel, hours in the car
Hurry up and rest, hurry up and enjoy
Spring is bursting birth
and fall, dramatic death
But August is stasis
and we sit in the warm evening
by the still-warm water
and think it will always be this way,
it should always be this way.
There is no rush into August
Nothing is planned there
We sleep late
And sit outside all night
Who works or worries then?
There is no rush away from August
No one wants to hear that first bell.
Stop time.
Stay here.
Breathe.
Home Economics 
I get this. Publish this every August.
Thanks. I’m not just blowing, I really feel this. I may add some. Ever hear Van Morrison’s “Hymns To The Silence?” If you haven’t, you haven’t lived. There are a couple of songs on that album that really catch the emotion I’m trying to get here. Did you tell Gloria about the tomatoes?
I’ll check out Van Morrison. GB is glad you’re getting some tomato harvest. The deer are enjoying ours.
The song I am talking about on Hymns To The Silence is “On Hyndford Street.” It’s about his childhood in Northern Ireland. Absolutely hypnotic.