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~Imagination~
HOPE
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Purple Sunrise © by Mary Beatty
~August Contemplation ~
By David Brewster
Ah, August, and livin' is easy!
Oh, August, and livin' is tough.
Thirty-one mid-summer days,
a season of tranquility and transition.
They seem suspended somewhere
between the end of something
and the beginning of something else.
We rushed to get here
and will soon hurry away.
There will be a day before September's song
when we shift from where we were
to where we're going.
But not now,
not yet,
not today.
And the seasons, they are a changin'.
August's time seems to move
with the grace and leisure of an old turtle
crossing a hot, dusty, country road.
Winter is a distant memory.
Spring's labors of pruning and planting,
repairing and preparing
are either complete or put off.
It's time for just sitting back,
for repose,
for contemplation of life and living,
for mixing reality with fantasy,
for dreaming
in the brightness of afternoon's sun.
Fields barren only a few months ago
stand columned now with flowered soldiers,
dressed in the deepest of green.
And across the road,
between barn and woods,
an emerald sea of vines and leaves
shimmers under August's sun.
Life is full across our quilted American Heartland.
Every vibrant thing that knows how to make life from light
is at the apex of its seasonal being.
And they, like us,
pause between having once been
and being once again.
Metamorphosis abounds.
Locusts warn of coming frost,
while summer's heat
drives the blackbird's screech away.
Surprise lilies surprise.
Peonies die.
The sweet aroma of lavender
is but a memory
as we await the crisp scent of autumn air.
Things are in flux,
yet appear to be at peace.
Much is gone.
Much is yet to come.
Some gaze back.
Some watch ahead.
What we were
has brought us to where we are.
Judgments and choices,
deeds and misdeeds
have made us what we are.
But we can go ahead from here,
transformed,
recreated from what we were
to someone new,
someone better,
someone born again.
We are made for August,
and August is made for us.
We are thinkers.
August is the time for thought.
We are changers,
August is the time of change.
These special days will soon pass,
and so shall we.
But for a moment,
for this fleeting second,
hope pauses
like the humming bird above the flower.
August is neither the month of promise,
nor the month of reward,
nor a time of dormancy.
August is not May or October or January.
August is the time of introspection,
the season of contemplation,
the days of wine and roses.
Now is when we sit back
and consider the lilies of the field.
Now is not a time for toil,
but a time to look about.
Now is when we find our soul,
our magic
and our way.
And the seasons, they are a changin'.
© By David Brewster
Columnist, The Kokomo Tribune
Poetically enhanced by Mary Beatty
Used by Permission - 8.1.04
Background Music: Deep Purple
Midi Sequenced by RedSal
Original Artwork: Purple Sunrise
Rough Sketch © by Mary Beatty
