A Love Letter to August (sort of)

Why, hello August, a pleasure to see you again, my dear. (Kind of.) I love what you offer, with your big blue skies and puffy clouds in the day, your sparkling constellations and fireflies at night. The casually gorgeous fields of wildflowers and the bounty of tall, golden corn are just a few highlights of what grows under your watch. Your sun is dazzling enough to keep warm the lakes and rivers. You are glorious and full of summer beauty, ripe for the taking.

So, I do love you and everything. But, well… The thing is, if I’m being honest, it’s a bit complicated. I mean, you’re not as easy to love as July. Don’t get me wrong; you’re beautiful and sunny and summery. It’s just that sister month July is so… free.

July is beautiful and simple, free from the tangle of many responsibilities and obligations. She’s an oyster of possibility, an ice cream sundae with all of the toppings. Coming along on the heels of busy sister June, with her sometimes more formal occasions and proper holidays, July is seen as a reprieve, a chance to breathe, kick of your shoes, and let down your guard. She comes along with fireworks and sparklers, big cookouts and loud families. She’s a stand-alone stunner of a month.

I’m so sorry, August. I got a little carried away. This is supposed to be about you, dear August. I mean, you’re amazing, you truly are. It’s just that you remind us that the fun here won’t go on forever, and that can be a tough pill to swallow. Your presence causes us to start counting the number of Tuesdays and Fridays and Saturdays that we have left for adventure, the number of weekends we might be able to stretch and extend .

Your nights close in around us earlier. The days are a little slower to rise out of bed; they don’t always spring out of bed. They days are still long and beautiful, don’t get me wrong. They just, well, they don’t give us that same feeling as the longest summer days.

The mornings make for colder bike rides and runs. While the reprieve feels good for my level of effort, the way that they make my hands cold and even think about gloves makes me think about, well, glove weather. And I don’t want to think about anything to do with glove weather. Not by a long shot.

Dear, August. You are still so much summer, yet you also signal the end that will come, of course, eventually. And I don’t want it to. I know it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that school starts creeping in. It not your fault that we have to start thinking about schedules and school supplies and structure. Every email and commercial reminds usthat summer, in all of its sweetness, will not last forever.

But you know what? Maybe what I see as your biggest downfall might actually be one of your biggest strengths. As the more mature summer month, you grant more meaning, more perspective. This will not last forever. You remind us to count the days, to take unabashed advantage of them, to not let these chances merely pass us by. You remind me to go in the water, to run around the yard with the kids, to watch the stars. To not get too accustomed to this beauty, too conditioned to respect it or to tired to enjoy it. You remind me that days these days of glory are closing like the pages of a beloved book. They will be replaced by days of more structure and obligation that are coming again. Right now, the best obligation that I have is to make the most of it all, to make the most of today.

So thank you August, for coming. I’m sorry for not seeing you for what you are, at first. For comparing you with your sister, July (who, for the record, really is beautiful.) But you’re quite stunner yourself. Your beauty is deep and thought-provoking. There’s a lot to be said about that. I do sincerely apologize for not realizing at first that your differences are actually what make you more beautiful. Your presence provides perspective.

Thanks for the reminder. Thank you for being here, right in the middle of summer, buffered by responsibility on one side and freedom on the other. Now let’s go watch the sunset…