Mid-August Harbinger

You have fooled me again...

Estampie is playing on the machine as I start the fire. It has been a long time here. The longest time in my life in one place, surpassing even Budapest, where I planted my seeds, if you know what I mean.

A patriotic flotation device makes its way around the pool leftover from July fourth. Red. White. Blue. An empty chair filled with air waiting for something for someone to fill it properly. Perhaps a metaphor for our times.

Nevertheless I don't think about such things. I only watch the sunset in mid August and I am drinking a glass of beer as the sun makes its way down. You are seeing it at its orange zenith but as I write it we are seeing purple as it sets over the bayou at the end of our property. I have had an unhappy ten years here I will freely write but sitting here watching the sun set over the ancient oaks and over the bayou and the cicadas are saying something. Life is what we make of it.

Often in August the harbinger descends upon us and lets us know that even in the heat there is something coming. I have written about it before. I felt it a bit tonight. It's a wind that comes from somewhere else. That tells us something else. I remember you. You dropped down. We are on bicycles we are walking around the lake we are feeling you brush our cheeks. Singing a song until the song is worn out. Then it is silence.