Feeling lazy. Feeling...August. In all it's brazen holiday-ness, hues and blues, there is something about August that breaks in under the skin and takes my cells over for 31 days. August breaks in to time. In to lives. A high summer thief that brings gifts instead of stealing your soul.
If we're lucky we'll have weather to match. But whatever the weather somehow August seeps in regardless. I don't want to work. I'm on a go slow. Pots are not being washed. Days of endless lie-ins. Pottering, pondering, possibilities. Watching Louis Smith fall off the pommel horse. It's good to watch Louis Smith regardless.
New horizons. Thresholds crossed. And thresholds to come. Muggy nights, breezy days. Endings, middlings,beginnings all fade in to the August dusk and won't re-appear until September dawn when maybe, I'll begin to think about them again.
How August came round so fast I don't know. It just appeared on the calendar like how the first splash of red from a robin's chest surprises us in the winter light.
Permission has been granted to fully embrace lazy days as 15 hour nightshifts at work keep rambling on, longer than expected. They are a blessing and a chore and a gift of space to come. Counting the days to the end of August for when these shifts will abruptly halt and once again I'll embrace the rising sun on waking, not on sleeping.