It’s already August. Weather report: some nights are unseasonably cool due to the winds coming across this big beautiful Lake Michigan.
It’s already August and the tomoatoes are ready for picking. I only have one plant but the branches are so full and heavy, tipping over with ripe red tomatoes. There’s nothing like a fresh picked tomato warm from the sun. Or a summer Tomato Tart baked with fresh picked tomatoes from your own garden.
It’s already August and I wonder “what happened to July?”. Did it just pass by like a high speed train on the way to August and I missed it? Didn’t I arrive at the platform on time? Maybe I stood on the wrong platform.
It’s already August. I’ve been retired since January 15th. I love it. Suddenly I have time to read a novel, take an afternoon nap, clean out the cupboards, work in the garden, bake cakes.
Then why do I feel so discombobulated? Lost?
It’s already August. And I’m feeling much better after writing about this. All those thoughts in my head seem to be clearer when I write them down. It’s like my own voice giving me the advice that I need. Me talking to me. Or maybe it’s God. Or my mother. I’m listening.
“You should be writing something from your life, from the depth of your soul. There is more in you than this”, he said, pointing to the newspaper story, “if you have the courage to write it.”
-Louis May Alcott, from the film adaptation of Little Women