Toward the End of August by David Budbill
Toward the end of August I begin to dream about fall, how
this place will empty of people, the air will get cold and
leaves begin to turn. Everything will quiet down, everything
will become a skeleton of its summer self. Toward
the end of August I get nostalgic for what’s to come, for
that quiet time, time alone, peace and stillness, calm, all
those things the summer doesn’t have. The woodshed is
already full, the kindling’s in, the last of the garden soon
will be harvested, and then there will be nothing left to do
but watch fall play itself out, the earth freeze, winter come. Art by Pedro Cervantez
Recommended listening: Take On Me - a-ha Links of the Day: Star Witness The demanding schedule of Elon Musk
Planet Prudence
Artistic Maps of Pakistan & India Show the Embroidery Techniques of Their Different Regions