august. it should be clear, and bright, and golden; almost not there, it runs through my fingers, the time intangible. it feels like the last days of high school, or the last day of some trip. some kind of indeterminate ending, that makes me try to hold it all the tighter. like an aqueous organism, it slips away all the faster for my efforts to hold onto it. august has scales and a whiff of unicorn or something else impossible. if you could capture it in a jar, it would have to grant wishes, reveal the future, something, but it's far to ephemeral for that. if it weren't for september, I think august might stand a chance, be able to solidify into something real: an ice cream cone or strand of sun burned grass. but september has such weight; impends towards us, casts a shadow. by comparison, it's amazing august even manages to persevere, resist getting sucked into september's gravitational pull. I am not so lucky. september claims half of august's mind and preoccupies so many neurons, it's no wonder the wings of august brush against me as only a hallucination.

This is how summer days ought to be passed. Damn Dora the explorer though - one episode and I'll never be able to plan a beach trip without hearing her voice.
Where are we going?
To the beach!