Though the fire that blankets the earth in the warmth of the sun’s heat followed by evening stormy seas of rain from the sky marks the days of August, there is something more. The crispness. The smallest hint of the change to come; a glimmer most miss in an effort to stretch the summer sun just one more day.
The whisper of the crinkle of leaves, the colors to flash in our eyes in the passing greenery. The promise of winds swirling all that has fallen from once ripe trees, littering our floors with a premonition of the cold to come.
August, in its blaze of glory, gives mention of the beauty of fall to come. September is more forthright; October is full bloom fall. But August. August holds the breath that can only be breathed by those searching for its secrets. That’s why I love August.
Many, though certainly not all, that I love, I appreciate, I connect with on an unspoken level are wards of August days. Lifelong friends, a group of friends I’ve left back east… all of us were proud to belong to August.
Past loves, dear friends, dear cousins, many family members, my brother, belong to this month. My dearest grandmother. A woman whom I miss so very much; a woman to whom I solidified my bond with later in life, who fought for her family’s future pursuits, who too recently passed, 6 years ago…she was a sister of mine in August.
And her husband, my grandfather. One to whom I was unable to solidify as strong of a bond with, only because time and maturity did not allow. I think of him each day. Every day. Sometimes twice when the clock strikes 8:16. I think of him. For though he was not a man of August, he belonged to October, as Zach does….
My grandfather found his lucidity long enough to sing Happy Birthday to me hours before he passed. On my birthday.
I am a child of August. I hold a kinship with all those bearing her month in their souls. And today, is my day of celebration.