August is upon us, <br />its sun scorches to melt pavements as we dream of rain. <br />Soft earth turns hard and cracked, grass turns to yellow <br />as flowers shrivel like tissue paper, crinkling at the edges. <br /> <br />Relaxed I watch <br />folk saunter through London parks, observing ducks, licking ice cream. <br />Children play, oblivious to the passing year, <br />as school holidays stretch out as though they are endless. <br /> <br />These are the days <br />when thoughts turn to plane flights, hotel rooms, <br />morning croissants, towels on sun beds and sea air <br />but for me August means leisurely mornings with no traffic queues. <br /> <br />Each month of the year <br />has its very own flavour that lingers on my tongue like a favourite dish or candy bar. <br />Sometimes the taste is sour, sometimes fruity sometimes sweet <br />but never fails to spark emotions. <br /> <br />My emotion for the month of August is that of utter pleasure, <br />a warm sun on my back, a gentle breeze, a daydream of a lover’s hand in mine when I was only twenty one <br />and miles and miles of sand.<br /><br />Ruth Walters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/august-35/
