Summer sense

August is muggy. Full blast indoor A/C or a vacation near the beach.

On the East coast, it’s time for snow birds to arrive back in to town (NY).

For the French to bare it all on the beach.

It got so hot, we even had an earthquake in China.

Disasters spare no one: Haitian or Hawaiian, California Chinese or China Chinese.

Sadness piling up on top of sadness, Malaysian flight on top of another Malaysian flight.

I am an August child whose birthday is often celebrated indoors.

Even when it’s my birthday month, August often ushers in this existential loneliness.

Of summer end. Of separation and sadness.

Might as well get used to it, sadness that is. Bonjour Tristesse!

If one continues in this line of thinking, one would eventually is right i.e. everything shall pass, Summer or Spring, Seasons in the Sun or in the Shade.

A friend is taking up surfing, to make up for lost times.


Meanwhile, I can barely take up reading, to make up for my lost times.

All those lost times of reading the wrong books, meeting the wrong folks (whose life could be read like a book) and doing the wrong things.

You can call it, learning the hard way.

Summer time.

1942. 1968. 1975. First one is about a movie, coming of age. Second, counter-culture movement in SF. And the last one, my first August birthday in Pennsylvania.

All bear significance. All are resonating. Of a time passing. Never to be regained, except for some warm memories they registered in my deepest recess.

Pleasant or unpleasant, these time posts are to be looked back in awe and even anxiety. Will this muggy August make sense when looked back from a future date? Summer sense.







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