August can seem sometimes a month of Sundays. I love the drama queen "forever" of the phrase "a month of Sundays."
August holds a long deliberate stretch of heat and rest. It wants quiet and a book and a cold glass that tinkles with ice and leaves condensed pools of liquid on the table.
August demands the attention of the last preparatory stretch before the big Monday of school.
August tells me to hustle with all the things I've not yet readied.
August tells me to slow down before the real hustle begins.
This August weekend I paused for a little linen fixation.
Feels like August. Needs a great brim, one that goes forever.