August

August has always made me feel a bit melancholic. Now, there’s a word for you: melancholy. Abraham Lincoln was said to suffer from melancholy. I always took it as depression, but it’s more than that. Melancholic people are sensitive introverts.

Can you imagine a President who is an introvert? But I think it explains much about our 16th president. Not only was he thoughtful about his steps, but gave short, to-the-point speeches.

He maneuvered our country through a Civil War, changing generals in charge of the Northern troops, trying to find that initial big win. At war’s end, he planned a future beyond the presidency. He must have felt like that day was as refreshing as the air is after a rain. America was on the cusp of change.

That is how I feel August: On the cusp of change. The light changes in August. Early in spring, the sun shimmers through the windows. It comes in through the windows from the North. The sun feels like a giddy teen, ready for that first date. The future, like summer, seems to stretch on forever.

The sun moves ever southward with each passing day. I’m really not aware of that movement until August. That’s when the light grows softer and shadows play in diagonal angles through the windows.

It’s still hot outside. Butterflies and bees visit the flowers in the garden. Birds sing lovely songs. Fruit ripens on the trees. Hummingbirds visit the feeders set about. But there’s a new frentic energy about all the activity.

Change is coming. We’re moving from the heavy warmth of summer into the freshness of fall. Fall awaits just around the corner. Anxious to barge on in, it leaves signs. Red and yellow pops in a few places. Not a lot….just a hint of new lace on a leaf here and there. Grasses grow tall and turn golden, ready to drop their seeds for the next generation. And the light changes as it falls across the window.

August is the month when the light changes…

Windows

I’m sure many people give little thought about windows. Most thoughts are likely about how much light comes in: Is there too much or too little light? What type of drapery should cover the window, or not? Should the windows be replaced? Are they efficient enough? 

I’ve viewed windows like that sometimes. But I also enjoy looking out as they frame the hummingbirds, dragonflies, juncoes and other creatures great and small. At times, I’ve tested my hand against the pane to feel the heat of summer or the deep chill of winter. 

But windows can keep things out. They can be the thing that keeps us shut out, like a child cupping a hand to view the depths within. They can lock us in, lost to the hums of daily life.

Today is an unusual summer day in my area The A.C. is off. I’m enjoying the aroma of earth and sunshine entering through the opened windows. The lawn is mowed and clothes are napping in the sunshine as they dry in gentle breezes. I am aware of the humming of chainsaws somewhere nearby. I feel connected to the world.

As I’m listening, I’m aware of the curtains fluttering in and out with the breeze. It looks like the world is breathing. It’s nose is the open windows.

It takes me back in time, watching the curtains move with the wave of breeze. When I was a kid, growing up along the shores of Lake Michigan, there was no A.C., not in the typical house, at least. There were no vast, cool supermarkets, either. 

I felt more connected to the earth and nature. My greatest joy in summer was throwing off my shoes, to mom’s horror, and feeling the coolness of grass. (Or dirt and mud. 😀) 

The grass contrasted to the unbearable heat of the concrete, which caused us to hop and screech, until we could find a patch of shade. The corner market, just two doors away, had two large concrete steps that lay in afternoon shade. It was such a blessing to reach those steps! I’d reach for the metal handle to open the screen door. As I entered, the screen would give a satifying ‘thwack!’ The cold tile floors felt so good on my feet. 

After getting whatever grocery I’d been sent for, I might linger on the front stoop before hop-scotching my way home again. It generally was a failing fight, as I tried to avoid the hot, sunny patches of concrete.

We were outside as much as possible. While there was TV, not much was on, save Saturday morning cartoons. Reception was poor anyway, so there was little point in bothering.
Outside, we played under the shade of the tree-of-heaven, using seed pods as pretend food for our dolls. Or, we might lay on a blanket, keeping busy looking for four-leaf clovers. Our older sister said that would bring us luck. It didn’t work that well.

We might play on the swing set, dig deep into the sandy soil, or take up residence on the house-width front porch. From there, I watched the world. I was the observer.

On steamy summer days, storm clouds might build with sudden showers that left the pavement throwing up wispy clouds once they passed. I loved being on the porch, feeling the fury of the winds, watching the lightening and the scurrying of grey clouds. When very small, storms terrified me. But as I grew to the advanced age of 8, my view changed, much to the annoyance of mom. 

At night, as the heat of the day eased, and early in the morning, when heat had yet to begin, I often watched as the curtains moved with the wind. I no longer remember what deep thoughts, if any, went through my mind. I do remember watching the world breathing and feeling content with those moments.

Today is like that. Fans whir in the windows. The curtains billow forth in the breaths of air. 

Tomorrow will remind me soon enough to feel the unease of too many things wrong. But not today. Today, in this moment, all is right in the world.