I love you. Please don’t go.
You are the unhurried end of summer, when it all starts to unravel.
Some folks rush to start a sparkling, perfect autumn. But I’m not ready. I still need to walk out the back door without shoes on. I need to eat garden tomatoes. I need to see the wheat stubble turn that awesome bronze color. I need to celebrate birthday week for at least ten more days.
I am messy and imperfect, and so are you, August. I love that.
You remind me that it really doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.
August, I’ll miss you.