“Summertime. It was a song. It was a season. I wondered if that season would ever live inside of me.”
― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Last Night I Sang to the Monster
August Is Green
When the day is inviting and warm, yet full of both promise and reminiscence, it is unsettling to be on the edge of contentment.
In trees, birds chatter, crickets sing around me, and the winds blow so gently on my cheek. This day beckons happiness, and it requests joy.
As the sun rises and the sky is pure blue, brushed with the cotton of clouds, it is so sweet and so touching.
Yet, am I grateful?
August green is everywhere, and life lavishes the eye with the color of late summer.
Abundant, rich layers of grass, leaf, and stem stretch up and out of the earth, as if they are guzzling down the sunlight before their last call.
I sit and observe quietly, and wish I had the same earnest conviction as the green. To know that it is worth the reach, that is the test.
Is there fulfillment in waiting for the eventuality?
Hollowness echoes questions that are not yearning for answers, yet they query.
The sun and the sky request my company as they cross.
I am, unfortunately, isolated from them. I am on the edge of their sweet serenity, peace, and passion.
For now, I will have another cup of coffee and wait.
There Is A Time 