“I Am August”

August…a peculiar month. The heat of summer has become wearisome. All of the late summer weed monsters are tall, gnarled up masses come to torment. The leaves aren’t changing color but they’re changed, their luster lost and tired looking. Different.  So subtlety the day’s length shortens. The sun doesn’t bother to show its self till late morning, fighting the wet fog hanging in the tree tops. Its heat feels hot, yet not, its intensity waning in these latter weeks. Sporadic storms feed the clammy humidity. The seasonal insects don’t cease their noise. There’s an odd expectancy in August. It closes out summer which passes by as fast as ice cubes melt in sweet tea. The breeze…nonexistent. But the nights…oh the star filled nights! Screech owls join with the Cicadas lending mystery and goose bumps to the dark.

Harvest has been in full bounty for weeks. The beans and corn are put up, the garden is fizzling out. Thirty pound yellow belly watermelons lie in their vines, ready now for spoon and salt. The pumpkins are coming on nicely. Ice cream has lost some of its appeal except to anticipate topping warm, fresh baked apple pie. Acorns are raining down; squirrels are busy storing and stealing them from one another. The woods…alive with scurrying. Hummingbirds are dipping into withered up flowers, departing soon for parts unknown. Goldfinches feasting on full golden sun flowers. Turkeys are roving the woods gobbling. Even the clover is withering, much to the rabbit’s dismay.

For the first time in my years August resonates in my heart.

The length of my days are numbered and I no longer appear the same. My thoughts bewilder me; like a hazy mist clouding the simplest decisions. I long for the brace of October winds to chase away the dank, cloying thoughts as leaves from the trees. I need the frost to freeze and destroy the atrocious imaginings seeking to destroy. I wait with eagerness for something…anything to happen, but have no idea what. I covet the slow quiet of snow falling in the woods…so silent the flakes can be heard landing. Then a herd of deer are blowing, pawing the snow as they move through the dusk, translucent in the woods.

My heart clamors, its Christ’s return I wait for! I must gather and store up His teachings and feast on His word. I must trust that His breath of life will sweep through my inmost being. Restore me Lord! I know that the sword of truth and the breast plate of righteousness will keep the insidious away. I will rest in the tranquility of prayer. Be still my soul; wait for His whispering will to land softly in your heart. I will embrace this perplexing season of preparation even as I wither and change. I will praise Him. I’m alive and well and whole. My harvesting tools must be honed. I will draw from the nectar of His Spirit and ready myself for the flight to eternity.

I am August.

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