August 3, 2023

I didn’t fully notice the cows blocking the road because I was too busy trying to figure out how to capture the complexity of the clouds to the north with the simplicity of a full rainbow due east. As I stood there finagling with the phone, the rain drops started to fall. Just a few like a half-assed promise of a raging storm. But it was enough to liven the air with the smell of dampened weeds and grass. That breeze had an unmistakable feel of August and change. In a week or so the light would shift and the days would be noticeably shorter.

I wasn’t ready for Indian Summer. I wasn’t ready for the golden light to fade earlier and earlier in the evening and witnessing the sunset at 7:30 instead of 8:30. Or better yet, nine. I wasn’t ready for the sunset to no longer be performed squarely behind the old windmill. I wasn’t ready for those misty and mildly humid early mornings that beg you to skip out on work and just walk until the clouds have dissolved around the morning sun.

But I’m never ready for this season change. I always feel like I could have done more…spent more time outside side stepping the tallest weeds that might be hiding snakes as I walk out towards the low spot we refer to as a lake. Taking myself up the hills to the east with only the hawks to keep me company. August is bittersweet. I feel rushed to enjoy every minute of the waning summer. It’s like those precious hours before a beloved leaves home with a promise to come back but not for a very long time.