August Ends

The end of August feels significant. Every year.
This year in particular. We've had a good summer
with sunlight and warmth, not perfect. Better
than most, maybe for a decade or so. Then
August ends.

Imagine a seaside town with laughter
and noise. A warm sea breeze whispers
sweet nothings and utters promises of
an eternal present full to the brim. Then
August ends.

All of a sudden the winds cut deep. Dreams
pack up for another year. Boulevards empty
as if flocks flying south for the winter. Shutters
reluctantly pulled down, slam shut. Then
August ends.

School days return and businesses crank up. Colder
months steam towards winter. Some complain
the year is already out. Not I, not this year
of life and death, of sickness and health. This year
the world stopped then spun and spun. Where goes
your hopes and dreams? Energising mine across
rainbows here and now. Late summer postcards
say, "Wish you were here". The year still lays ahead when
August ends.