I logged on a month ago or so to post my ode to July, the apex of summer, the month of months, time of lions, sun, and birthdays (mine).

However, I didn’t finish it, so here I am, in late August, listening to crickets and cicadas and whatever else chirps on the night in my neck of the woods. 

I write posts all the time, you know, in my head. Coming to the computer intending to write is hard for me. 

Despite the fact that it’s my son’s birth month, August is a sad month. All I see are signs that the season is dying, will die, and the light is already fading. I’ve turned back my porch light timer from 8:30 p.m. to 8 p.m., reminding me that too soon, I’ll be adjusting it again, and again, and again until I get to 5 p.m. 

I do like fall — leaves changing colors, pumpkins on porches and in store windows. I like Halloween, too, and the witchy vibes. And I love Christmas. But cold and dark, I could do without.

I spend a surprising amount of time considering the seasons and their changes. Not much I can do about blocking winter darkness, but I still ponder. 

My attention is waning (a product of undiagnosed ADHD and a cellphone/scrolling problem) so I’m going to end this here.