August

 

August

 

“God of the idle heat, in this glaring road

you dominate all.

And over the green fields wilted down

under your blaze, these

thirsty unruly plants grow a jungle domesticity

to protect their fruit.

Of all hidden things, I sing, waiting

for evening’s grace.”

“Down valley a smoke haze

Three days heat, after five days rain   

Pitch glows on the fir-cones

Across rocks and meadows

Swarms of new flies.

 

I cannot remember things I once read   

A few friends, but they are in cities.   

Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup   

Looking down for miles

Through high still air.”

No wind, no bird. The river flames like brass.
On either side, smitten as with a spell
Of silence, brood the fields. In the deep grass,
Edging the dusty roads, lie as they fell
Handfuls of shriveled leaves from tree and bush.
But ’long the orchard fence and at the gate,
Thrusting their saffron torches through the hush,
Wild lilies blaze, and bees hum soon and late.
Rust-colored the tall straggling briar, not one
Rose left. The spider sets its loom up there
Close to the roots, and spins out in the sun
A silken web from twig to twig. The air
Is full of hot rank scents. Upon the hill
Drifts the noon’s single cloud, white, glaring, still.

 August is the slow, gentle month that stretches out the longest across the span of a year.

 It yawns and lingers on with the light in its palms.

This morning, the sun endures past dawn. 

 it is August: the summer's last stand.

August

 Twilight is the border between day and night,

the shore is the border between sea and land. 

The border is longing: 

when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything.

 The border is to be on the way. 

It is the way that is the most important thing.

 August is the border between summer and autumn;

 it is the most beautiful month 

 the first week of August is motionless, and hot

It is curiously silent, too, 
with blank white dawns 
and glaring noons, 
and sunsets smeared with too much color

 Those late August mornings smelt of autumn 

from day-break 
till the hour when the sun-baked earth 
allowed the cool sea breezes 
to drive back the then less heavy aroma 

of threshed wheat, 
open furrows, 
and reeking manure.

 August rain: 

the best of the summer gone, 

and the new fall not yet born. 

The odd uneven time.

As we stood there

Older than men

And younger than the boys

We were as still as the wind

That blows 

on a hot August night

The Wild Boys are calling

On their way back from the fire

In August moon's surrender to

A dust cloud on the rise

 

August is for those who are second choices;

those who love too hard #

and get their heart broken easily;

those who like to cry for fun;

those who love people from afar;

those that are hopeless but also hopeful;

those that love to read books

and fantasize about romance;

those who live for the hope it all

 August rain: 

the best of the summer gone, 

and the new fall not yet born. 

The odd uneven time.

 August is the slow, gentle month that stretches out the longest across the span of a year. 

It yawns and lingers on with the light in its palms.

Borders

Twilight is the border between day and night,

the shore is the border between sea and land. 

The border is longing: 

when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything.

 The border is to be on the way. 

It is the way that is the most important thing.

 August is the border between summer and autumn;

 it is the most beautiful month 

 In August, 

the large masses of berries, 

which, when in flower, 

had attracted many wild bees, 

gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, 

and by their weight 

again bent down 

and broke their tender limbs.

 

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning, 

The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, 

and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, 

but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. 

It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.

August

 

August is the eighth month of the year in the Julian and Gregorian calendars, and the fifth of seven months to have a length of 31 days.

Its zodiac sign is Leo.

Certain meteor showers take place in August. The Kappa Cygnids take place in August, with the dates varying each year. The Alpha Capricornids meteor shower takes place as early as July 10 and ends at around August 10, and the Southern Delta Aquariids take place from mid-July to mid-August, with the peak usually around July 28–29. The Perseids, a major meteor shower, typically takes place between July 17 and August 24, with the days of the peak varying yearly. The star cluster of Messier 30 is best observed around August.

The month was originally named Sextilis in Latin because it was the 6th month in the original ten-month Roman calendar under Romulus in 753 BC, with March being the first month of the year. About 700 BC, it became the eighth month when January and February were added to the year before March by King Numa Pompilius, who also gave it 29 days. Julius Caesar added two days when he created the Julian calendar in 46 BC (AUC 708), giving it its modern length of 31 days.

In 8 BC, the month was renamed in honor of Emperor Augustus. According to a Senatus consultum quoted by Macrobius, he chose this month because it was the time of several of his great triumphs, including the conquest of Egypt. Commonly repeated lore has it that August has 31 days because Augustus wanted his month to match the length of Julius Caesar's July, but this is an invention of the 13th century scholar Johannes de Sacrobosco. Sextilis in fact had 31 days before it was renamed, and it was not chosen for its length

August's birthstones are the peridot, sardonyx, and spinel. Its birth flower is the gladiolus or poppy, meaning beauty, strength of character, love, marriage and family. The Western zodiac signs are Leo (until August 22) and Virgo (from August 23 onward)

 Those late August mornings 

smelt of autumn 

from day-break 

till the hour when the sun-baked earth

 allowed the cool sea breezes

 to drive back the then less heavy aroma 

of threshed wheat, 

open furrows, 

and reeking manure.

August

 

As we stood there older than men
And younger than the boys (that's right)
We were as still as the wind
That blows on a hot August night

The wild boys are calling
On their way back from the fire
In August moon's surrender to
A dust cloud on the rise

August

 The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning, 

The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, 
and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, 
but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. 
It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.

August

 August is the slow, gentle month that stretches out the longest across the span of a year.

 It yawns and lingers on with the light in its palms.

This morning, the sun endures past dawn. 

 it is August: the summer's last stand.

 

If June was the beginning of a hopeful summer, 

and July the juice middle,

 August was suddenly feeling like the bitter end.

Everything good, everything magical happens between the months of June and August

 August is the border between summer and autumn;

 it is the most beautiful month 

 

August slipped away into a moment in time

August

 The month of August is the eighth month in the Roman. calendar, 

it represents the understanding of. regeneration, or new beginning.

August

 

August is the slow, gentle month that stretches out the longest across the span of a year.

 It yawns and lingers on with the light in its palms.

This morning, the sun endures past dawn. 

 it is August: the summer's last stand.

As we stood there older than men
And younger than the boys (that's right)
We were as still as the wind
That blows on a hot August night

The wild boys are calling
On their way back from the fire
In August moon's surrender to
A dust cloud on the rise

August

The Emperor Octavian, called the August, 
I being his favorite, bestowed his name 
Upon me, and I hold it still in trust, 
In memory of him and of his fame.
 
I am the Virgin, and my vestal flame 
Burns less intensely than the Lion's rage; 
Sheaves are my only garlands, and I claim 
The golden Harvests as my heritage.

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning, 
The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, 
and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, 
but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. 
It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.



Twilight is the border between day and night,
the shore is the border between sea and land. 

The border is longing: 
when both have fallen in love but still haven’t said anything.
 The border is to be on the way. 
It is the way that is the most important thing.

 August is the border between summer and autumn;
 it is the most beautiful month 




August rain: 
the best of the summer gone, 
and the new fall not yet born. 
The odd uneven time.









Those late August mornings smelt of autumn 

from day-break 
till the hour when the sun-baked earth 
allowed the cool sea breezes 
to drive back the then less heavy aroma 

of threshed wheat, 
open furrows, 
and reeking manure.





 In August, 
the large masses of berries, 
which, when in flower, had attracted many wild bees, 
gradually assumed their bright velvety crimson hue, 
and by their weight again 
bent down 
and broke their tender limbs.

August - Song by Taylor Swift

 

Salt air, and the rust on your door
I never needed anything more
Whispers of, "Are you sure?"
"Never have I ever before"

But I can see us lost in the memory
August slipped away into a moment in time
'Cause it was never mine
And I can see us twisted in bedsheets
August sipped away like a bottle of wine
'Cause you were never mine

Your back beneath the sun
Wishin' I could write my name on it
Will you call when you're back at school?
I remember thinkin' I had you

But I can see us lost in the memory
August slipped away into a moment in time
'Cause it was never mine
And I can see us twisted in bedsheets
August sipped away like a bottle of wine
'Cause you were never mine

Back when we were still changin' for the better
Wanting was enough
For me, it was enough
To live for the hope of it all
Cancel plans just in case you'd call
And say you meet me behind the mall
So much for summer love and saying, "Us"
'Cause you weren't mine to lose
You weren't mine to lose, no

But I can see us lost in the memory
August slipped away into a moment in time
'Cause it was never mine
And I can see us twisted in bedsheets
August sipped away like a bottle of wine
'Cause you were never mine

'Cause you were never mine, never mine
But do you remember?
Remember when I pulled up, and said, "Get in the car"
And then canceled my plans, just in case you'd call
Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all
"Meet me behind the mall"
(Remember when I pulled up and said "Get in the car")
(And then canceled my plans, just in case you'd call?)
(Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all)
("Meet me behind the mall")

 August: 

the summer's last stand

 

we all dream of committing crimes, 

but that only the unbalanced make that idea a reality