August is here

I felt it in my bones when I woke up this morning. In the joints. The articulations. I swear some bricklaying god has sucked out my marrow, mixed it with lime and sand. Read between the bricks. I am what bonds them.

It's hard. All this traveling. Growing older. The garden has grown wild in my absence. Unruly. The delphiniums are blue, hunched over. Too much rain. I don't want to deal with it. Not yet. It's too cool out there. The humidity too high.

No doubt August will be sticky. Even the books on my desk have that feel. The magazines. The papers. My manuscript. The filing cabinet. The handle. The bottom drawer sticks a bit when I open it, rattles when I throw the manuscript in. Closes easily.