I know it’s only just begun, but August always has this dry, scorched earth feeling. Thirsty and parched earth; no use planting anything new. A single spark can burn the whole place down. There’s a heavy stillness of wings hovering in the shade, waiting for cooling dusk to arrive.
August tests my patience.
August, in many ways, does the same to me as January. It spins me inward and slows me down. I am taking these cues, these ‘seasons of self,’ and cultivating and weeding and pruning myself as though I would a garden. There is a drought though, so I must be very particular about what I am watering.
And so, I am incredibly grateful for the lush, green weekend spent in the Pacific Northwest a few weeks ago. I can find this place within myself and let it carry me through this dry spell.