The End of August

I confess I don’t know what to write about. Not one clever line or idea has come to me. I’m in that dull transition phase—my breath held—before the onslaught of September. I always feel like this at the end of August—after the quagmire heat of high summer, just before everyone comes back from vacation and the school across the street is once again alive with children’s voices. I have shut off the screens. I am in the backyard listening to the cicadas, anticipating that perfect bit of coolness in the evening. I am wondering what comes next.

Inspired by not much really. Image is of Nancy’s overgrown, late-August garden.