August 12, 2015
There's an exhaustion to August; every single thing seems OVER it.
Even saying it involves an exhalation.
The giddy delight of June is past: being out of school (when that was applicable to one's self), staying up and sleeping in late; the newness of the summer heat, drying out the dampness of April and May; the fresh tree greens all colored in, the pollen washed away. Tender sprouts of the garden unfolding into promise.
The festiveness of July is complete: the fireworks of the 4th; summer vacations starting to kick in for real. There's fresh tomatoes (with too much mayonnaise!) and corn on the cob, cook-outs, hikes, swimming in the quarry.
Now, in this third month of summer, the verdant is long past. The sigh of August brings dusty dry grayish leaves; the Echinacea flowers have turned black, their textural cones drying into lethal spikes that would not look out of place in the Addams family's yard (leave them - the goldfinches will come); the oregano has gone to seed, and the tomatoes are on their last leg. School is starting, bringing traffic, the search for parking, and mobs of barely clothed freshmen taking up all the tables at your favorite restaurant(s).
We are fatigued by the relentlessness heat, the dripping humidity, the shrill of cicadas, the constant whir of ceiling fans. And frankly August, we tire of linen.
We long for sweaters and scarves and chili.