On the First Day of August

 August bursts at the seams with sticky heat. Stretching on, blazing hot. It is stifling and I wait for it to break.

But August is the last, and each day it draws closer. So, I fold the parasol in surrender. I want to feel it on my skin, stinging and red, before it's gone.  The welcomed dark nights are tinted with a warm sadness. A reminder that this, like all things that seem infinite, will be over too soon.

If I was a month, I would surely be August. 

Restless. 

Uneasy at the end.

[ Pentax k1000, on 100iso film that expired in 2008]