August comes in like a lion and out like a lamb.
That’s not right.
March is the lion and the lamb.
August is hot.
It has no personality of its own.
It’s school supplies already gathering dust.
It’s my wedding anniversary.
It’s an oven that doesn’t work, but if it did work, I’d complain that I’d have to turn it on in August.
It’s lazy and hazy and the air is muddy like April’s boots.
It’s melancholy and lethargic.
Or is that just me?
But it’s not all that bad, I suppose.
The birds are noisy, the grass is green.
The spices are fragrant.
The whirr of the air conditioner.
The hosta petals on the ground, and bunny prints in the drying rain.
I guess we’ll give August a chance.