If we sat around, talking about the little things, I’d have to say at some point that I tend to feel a distinct change in the air when August enters the chat.
But, I’d say that about September, October, and November, too. We’d simply have to wait a month or two to bring it up.
We wouldn’t talk about politics; you can get that any time, anywhere. It infiltrates the dinner hour like an unshaven, non-showering burglar stealing all hope for simple, pleasurable conversation.
At three-forty-five this morning, an orange line became clear on the horizon.
My bed has a view, but the pine needles, wind
-woven into my old screens, take their tax before I get my fair share of the color.
My wake-up, tapering slowly toward a level of clearheadedness, took a while. I didn’t know it was August, REALLY August, until I opened the front door.
The feeling settles on your cheeks the way a cool, damp cloth might after a long day working in the sun.
The voracious orange is so intense that it dazzles me into a state of disbelief that any orange can be that orange-creating a dull, but pleasant, pain in your eyes.
I try to capture the concentrated colors on camera, but I fail to encapsulate it.
I crept to the door, slowly turning the knob, hoping to avoid waking up the other occupants.
That’s when August reintroduced herself. She hasn’t changed a bit. Only I have.
Enjoy the day.
From the Jagged Edge of America, welcome to August.
TC
*Thanks to my BuyMeACoffee contingent. I am amazed and humbled by the support I receive. I was told that I could not make a living as a writer without overly lucrative book contracts, but I’ve pulled it off. Sure, I had a couple of contracts. First, I had to find out that publishing contracts are rarely plump, additionally filled with pitfalls of most everyone getting their share of the lucre before the scribblers get theirs. It’s an odd system. Writers of music get paid per play, enforced by overseers who make sure that pennies per song are funneled to the writers, but that’s not true for authors. The world can read all your words for free, and it should be that way to a point. Books are shared, and the words within spread throughout the land, so writers have to figure out how to make it pay the bills while the eyes of readers soak up their tiny works of art. Facebook made it stranger; I’ve seen lots of my stuff reconfigured, stolen, really. But an open Interweb cannot be policed properly or fully. BuyMeACoffee is how I can do this without more than a couple of other visible means of support. You, my readers, are part of that. I appreciate you. Thanks for buying the books, reading the blog, the FB, and a few smatterings of this and that on Instagram. Thanks for being members of BMAC. You are the best. tc