a letter to august

Dear August,

I can’t believe our time has already come.  I feel like summer has just barely begun to paint the sky with its golden hues and yet, here you are—marking the beginning of the end of summer.

I must admit that your arrival feels like a bittersweet surprise.  Like True Love on my doorstep presenting me with flowers and a sweet kiss before leaving me alone again.

And even though I can clearly recall so many beautiful moments since the year began, I feel like I’ve somehow missed something—like Sleeping Beauty awakening to find that the world has not ceased to keep on spinning and the stars have not stopped evolving.  I almost wish you had never come because your presence brings the reminder that time marches on and there is no stop, pause, or rewind buttons.  You leave me wishing it was that easy.

But despite the ache in my chest, I still find it in me to be thankful for the reminders that you bring.  Like a splash of cold water, you have woken my heart up to the the endless possibilities you hold--the possibilities for the next 31 days.

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The truth is, August, you make me hope...

For beautiful summer sunsets, road trips down the coast, dips in turquoise southern california ocean.

For the taste of iced coffees and the feel of my jean shorts as I pull them up over my legs.

For bikini clad afternoons spent lying in the grass, a good book in hand read through over-sized sunglasses.

For warm, twilight walks, my fingers entwined with the calloused fingers of Another.

For Love.

Because, after all, if I were to pick the perfect pair for a tandem bicycle, Summer and Love would be the one’s on its seats. 

But what you make me hope for most is that you don't go away too soon.  I hope you will kick up your feet and stay for a while, so I may bask in your color and light.  And I hope you will remind me during every second of your stay just how very short your presence will linger.  That you will help me not to forget that by the time you leave...

The days will be shorter and the nights cooler.

Soon enough, I will be tucking away my favorite jean shorts and black tank top in exchange for skinny jeans and cardigans.

September will be beautiful,

but still, not the same as you, August.

So, please; help me not to forget.

Knead yourself into all the little crevices of my heart

so that when you are finally gone,

I will have no doubts that we truly lived together.

And by the time I finish this letter, there will be only 30 more days to go.

So here I am, taking your hand, August;

let's make this one count.