August is upon us,
its sun scorches to melt pavements as we dream of rain.
Soft earth turns hard and cracked, grass turns to yellow
as flowers shrivel like tissue paper, crinkling at the edges.
Relaxed I watch
folk saunter through London parks, observing ducks, licking ice cream.
Children play, oblivious to the passing year,
as school holidays stretch out as though they are endless.
These are the days
when thoughts turn to plane flights, hotel rooms,
morning croissants, towels on sun beds and sea air
but for me August means leisurely mornings with no traffic queues.
Each month of the year
has its very own flavour that lingers on my tongue like a favourite dish or candy bar.
Sometimes the taste is sour, sometimes fruity sometimes sweet
but never fails to spark emotions.
My emotion for the month of August is that of utter pleasure,
a warm sun on my back, a gentle breeze, a daydream of a lover’s hand in mine when I was only twenty one
and miles and miles of sand.
Ruth Walters
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/august-35/
