I love this time of year. There has always been something magical about the end of summer. I don’t know if it is unique to the Midwest, but where I grew up, the August light begins to soften, and the world takes on a golden glow. The orchestra of crickets chirping in the evening becomes comically loud. Once you notice it, you can’t not hear it. The unmistakable smell of damp earth lingers in the air around endless cornfields. I would bottle that scent, if it were possible, and steal whiffs throughout the year. Dinner plates are loaded with juicy tomato slices and buttery sweet corn on the cob. The days are still steamy, but hints of cooler days ahead arrive as the sun gives way to the night sky.
As a child, I always loved the busyness of squeezing out the last few drops of summer vacation and preparing for the approaching school year. Gathering fresh school supplies, packing (and repacking) my bag, and planning the perfect first day outfit was such a delight. The promise of a blank, wide-ruled spiral notebook and not-yet-sharpened pencils thrilled my adolescent mind. I still find pleasure in planning new outfits for the coming season, and sophisticated fabric covered journals have long replaced those flimsy spiral notebooks. What remains is that same joy of watching the earth (and myself) quietly saunter into her next phase.
Welcome, August, my old friend.
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