August: a timid blend of summer and autumn, blinding light and quilted nights. The sun sets a full ten minutes before you’re ready, filters through the branches and catches on the street signs. August gently snuffs lofty expectations and kindles instinct, soft but incessant.



It’s a time for sappy recollections and reluctant departures. Foodies are mourning their precious summer fruits, mothers are preparing to sacrifice their children to school, and air conditioners are beginning to feel neglected. A trying time, indeed, but open. Transition, opportunity, renewal. Oh August, you are truly a master of deception, for summer you are not. You are a different beast entirely, and I think I like it.



“The object of reflection is invariably the discovery of something satisfying to the mind which was not there are the beginning of the search.” Earnest Dimnet

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