One Hot August Day

August....shaky, tremulous sizzling, transitory, mysterious moons in August slap you, do not love you. August..mighty...forward...unafraid change is a food for the gods, for my little self. Gone. Each freshness reaches a peak. Every counting of wildflowers ends. Count the berries on mountain ashberry. Each little bird friend...each little seed Will we survive the winter? Fall is five minutes long. Hence, my love. Born in August explains a dilemma I never figured. Neither here, there Ah, this then is a good thing. Your smile graces a leap.