When I was a kid, it seemed like summer got a running start at the 4th of July, and then reached its pinnacle in August. I remember August bringing the hottest days of the season, and the warmest, most restless nights. When you kicked the sheets and struggled for sleep with windows left open for cross-ventilation…crickets chirping outside and few cooling breezes to bring relief. It was the time for learning to swim underwater, for cook-outs with family friends (picnic tables, the public grill, and plumes of smoke that smelled of burgers, hot dogs, and charcoal). It was an August day when we went to the lake in the mountains. Surely, it was an August night when they wrote the song Summertime.
Now I’m all grown up, and then some, and August feels more like a cheerless transition.
But…the trees stand green, and the grass and shrubs hold strong, in the face of a merciless June and July. You can’t see it in the picture, but horses ran along a nearby fence, and stalks and stalks of green corn poised robust and plentiful enough to make my paltry six already-picked and drying corn plants at home stand a bit taller with envy. Sunset at 7:30 on a late August evening still has a bit of summery grace.
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On a warm summer’s evening … simple words … my favorite kind of words … packed with age-old nuance and memories.
Credit: The Gambler, performed by Kenny Rogers (1978), written by Don Schlitz.
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