Enter August

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Enter August

In the sounds of maturity on the other side of summer solstice,
One hears the turning of the year's cycle.
On the surface, time may seem to pause.
Quietness broods over fields and meadows,
Broken by the thunderstorms when the Gods hurl jagged spears among the clouds.
While clouds of golden pollen drop from the corn tassels to waiting silks,
Tomatoes grow red on the vines,
And apples grow heavy on the branches.
Acorns are swelling in filigreed saucers
And evergreen cones are lengthening.
Golden rods lift golden spikes to the brassy sun,
And sumac's chunky candles are turning wine red.
On the thin soiled uplands purple thistles paint pictures above the amber grasses.
Sun browned children run in the fields or romp at the sea shore.
As vacation time reaches its midpoint
School is a distant memory or a distant anticipation.
At high noon peace blesses the country side.
A song sparrow calls from a fence post,
And golden finches call as they swoop over the fields.
Grasshoppers' staccato whirs break the silence,
While crickets fiddle beneath kitchen window.
This is August; brooding, humid, often hot,
But beneath the quiet, powerful forces go forward on schedule.
To soon summer will slide into autumn
And we will ask where the summer has gone.
Author Unknown
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