August has always been my least favorite month of any year. And I apologize in advance to any of you August-lovers out there, though I don't know many of you.
It's hot and horribly long with it's big, fat 31 days and everything. It falls between fun-summery things and cozy autumn happenings. And absolutely nothing exciting ever happens in August.
Our celebrations are over. Summertime activities start to die down. There are no more fireworks or pool parties or 9pm sunsets. August hits and suddenly everyone is in preparation for school to start and spiral bound notebooks and new tennis shoes replace popsicles and flip-flops. Everyone prepares to go back to their normal routine of life when I'm wanting to continue in the spontaneity and unpredictability of summer fun. August feels like one big bummer.
It feels like the end of summer in a way, but it's not. The heat bears down hard and heavy. Squashing out any possibilities for the familiar summery activity.
The forecast is set to be over 100 degrees for the next seven days. I'm used to this seeing as I've lived here my entire life, and I never understand the people who complain about it or act shocked that it gets that hot here. But in this kind of heat, you can barely stand to be outside much less DO anything in it lest you keel over and die.
August is the forerunner though for the arrival of fall. Even though September is still quite warm and summer-like here, just the word September sounds prettier to say. And every year, this one being no exception, I'm wanting to get through this season and on to the next. To wrap up summer's towels and sunscreen and bright vibrant color and settle into a softer time of year full of warmth and quiet.
It's the first of August. The first of the month that is simply not my favorite. I'm dreaming and wishing and hoping. Wondering what the next season might hold for me and thinking about how I want to live in the August places of my heart.