There’s something so special and particular about August to me that I am forever sad when we reach the last day.
It’s the light that changes by the moment; it’s the bursts of bright sunshine and the sudden sharp showers that sometimes even morph into hailstones. It’s the wonder of my heart-wattle that comes from the far reaches of the Snowy River, ever a reminder of the first time I saw it decades ago on that wonderful river that is full of stories and memories.
It’s the frog chorus that erupts the moment the raindrops hit the surface of our Frog Pond; it’s the Lemon Delicious fragrance that wafts in the air as I collect damp wood for the fire, and I know without looking that our Acacia cognatas are bursting into a cascade of pale gold flowers among the scented foliage.
It’s the blossom of the old cherry plum down by the front gate, hour by hour opening from tight bud to full petal; it’s the early promise of the veggie garden that I have fully planted out for spring; and it’s the sweep of big sky and giant clouds that embrace Wombat Bend in a complete circle, 360 degrees of firmament that takes my breath away.
I wish I didn’t have to wait a whole year for another August.
