August, My Cruelest Month

Was it T.S. Eliot who believed April to be the cruelest month? I think not. How can all those daffodils in bloom and promises of summer days to come be considered cruel?

For me, it’s definitely August. At the campground it seems as if all the other campers suddenly realize that the summer clock is ticking down and there are people everywhere. I’ve gotten used to having the place to myself when Rupert and I set out for our long walks through the woods and campground roads in the morning…..now we have to watch out for dogs not on a leash or little kids who think every dog in their path welcomes outstretched hands or idiots who toss firecrackers near campfires and think it’s funny to watch dogs walking by jump.

The sun sets earlier, a reminder to me that long winter days are lingering on the horizon, certainly not my favorite time of year. Leaves are already falling to the ground in the woods; the tops of some trees are beginning to turn color. Some days the smell of autumn is in the clouds.

I’m not done with summer yet. I’m not ready. But August is here, reminding me that my attitude must be adjusted. My friend Denise once wrote that she is “solar powered”. I believe I am, too. And I’ve not yet had enough of the sun to get me though the winter. I hope that August at least remains hot and humid and sunny. I’m probably one of the few folks NOT complaining about the heat (although it’s tough on the Rupert and that worries me)….because I know, now that August is here, winter is waiting in the wings. Cruelty.