But August Ends Tomorrow

The air is still heavy and hot and humid. Don't want to lift my leg to high or move too fast. Might start sweating. Once the sweat starts, there is no turning back. It just keeps coming until every piece of clothing is soaked through. But it doesn't suffocate like it did a week ago. There is a slight breeze or something that says, "It will be over soon."

August in Tallahassee. It is our "winter". We hunker down and stay inside. Air condition instead of heat. Bathing suits in stead of boots. Sweat and cold icy drinks instead of numb fingers and hot chocolate. 

And, so little grows -- except weeds. Lots and lots of weeds. They sneak up and wrap their tiny viney fingers around anything that stands still and loop around and grow massive and tall. The canna lilies give us a punch of color and the zinnias hang on for the hot ride. 

We start back to our studies and paint and draw and learn. Imagination takes over and feathers and lamps and leather turn into artwork and play. We watch movies. Legos are out. Train tracks and instruments. We're waiting to go back out to the trees and the grass and the barn and the fields. That is where we belong.

But August ends tomorrow.


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