My mother came to visit this week; a quick, sweet surprise for the kids. We said good bye this morning, and the kids and I are leaning in to a slow day, recovering from the last two spent in the sun. Enjoying the calm before the storm of mid to late August. Birthdays and celebrations and time away and school prep and a workshop.... August will be full. And quiet. Intentional.
Off line I'm playing with Amanda's prompts for August, and I'm loving the daily practice of writing. Again. I seem to always make my way back to the simplicity of words on the page...
The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. ~Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting
