Can you read my fortune in the coffee creamer? 

It’s August. 

July was one of those magical months. Unseasonably warm weather, much to some dismay  of those who aren’t used to 80+ weather—but I’ll  confess, I’ve loved every hot muggy moment of it. When the cool returns, when the rain begins to fall without pause, when the nagging desire to perpetually complain about the weather sets in I am going to look back and cherish the very real summer that was July.  This year, my family will not be making our annual trek home, following the sun on its transit south. This is the year of the “staycation;” so, I remain thankful that summer decided to make an appearance on the coast this year.

I woke up today with that giddy feeling I typically get on the last day of a vacation.  That  this is it, make the most of it feeling. And it occurs to me, that August is a month of last days. It is full of  last hurrahs and last splurges and last day trips to the beach or the river or the city. Soon the weather will put on a sweater, autumn winds will replace summer breezes. Before we know it, September will be here and all the ninth month implies. But not yet.

Now, it is August. A month of lasts. And if we are wise and  careful and yet equally wild and willing to abandon a little of that must get this done compulsion — well, we will make the most of August. We’ll savor every last bite and remember that August is a month of blackberries and cobblers and long lazy days sipping tea by the gallon. We will revel in the doldrums and not wish them away for September. We’ll listen to the slow drawl that August uses to woo us, and we’ll fall in love with this month of last (good) days.