His royal majesty: King Summer has arrived in ALL his pomp and glory!
The farm has officially reach climax.
Everywhere you look, there is a buzz of activity. Colors are bright, boughs are adorned, leaves flutter like flags… It’s almost too much.
In fact, sometimes, it actually tips all the way over into “too much”.
The only thing I can think of that comes close to describing the early August mood is the parade of a returning king. It’s not quite the elation of a triumphal entry, and it lacks the sobriety of the seated monarch. August is the parade between those two events. Banners are waving, trumpets are playing, people are cheering and also satisfied… it is truly August.
We are thankful for August. To be honest, we are also thankful that August doesn’t last forever. (Because if it did, we would all melt). Like I said--it gets dangerously close to excessive.
Its as if the blaring call of the summer Sun (who climaxed a few weeks back at the solstice) is now getting the reaction he demanded. The echo is resounding back out of the earth. The delayed response is the lush glory that pours out of the earth. Her (the earth) response follows his (the sun's) initial call. Both actions are intense but fundamentally different. Each season has two peaks--the first one comes is the Sun's, the second is the earth's.
And now, with the second peak passing, we sink back onto our haunches to catch our breath and take a look around us. What we see is good. Everything is in its fullness. The colors are rich. Sweet juices dribble down our chins. Sweat oozes from our temples. Leaves dance and flicker. Flowers nod and wrap us in fragrance. The crickets sing their cheerful purr while the branches whisper and sigh with contentment.
Yes, any more demands from the Sun would have sent us into melt-down. But any less and the fullness wouldn’t be quite so complete. The flashing colors and sweet juices wouldn’t’ve been quite so rich.
These are the dog days. They are for expanded lungs and panting breath. Lolling tongues and upturned corners of the mouth. Flushed faces and hands on knees. Whoops and yells. Tired satisfaction.
In August we lift our heads and catch the golden, slanting, light coming down from the shining face of the Sun like the benevolent smile of a king who has grasped the and of his Queen and is about to be seated on his throne.
August is for basking in His light.