August

I can see you, August.

Looking at me from the floor of the land claimed by the swamp and revealing broken vines and marsh cabbage long covered by the tall grass now receding.

The goldenrod and aster on the threshold of blossom, waiting for some secret signal to burst forth and announce the arrival of Lughnasadh season.

Oh, how you always take me by surprise…as if only yesterday we were at the open door called Beltane.

Yet now here you are, sent to reveal the parts of us that are hidden, to remind us of what lies beneath the green, and to allow us a moment to prepare for what is to come.

For now, the air is still warm, the late summer colors will adorn our spirits, and those who do not know you in the way that witches do will think that the days are no different at all.

But we feel the coolness of your fingertips touch us ever so lightly on the shoulder and see the way the sun hesitates for just a moment longer each morning.

We hear the change in the conversations of the birds, and we know the dark is coming.

So, I am grateful to you, August.

And to this time of remembering and of stirring the last of summer’s sweet elixir.

Of drinking in the warmth that is left within this season and running from the night for just a little longer.

Photo by Kathrine Birch on Pexels.com