Life hangs a little raw in August.
It billows out like ribbons, taking flight.
Everything is acute in nature:
the heat,
the activity,
the emotions,
the expectations,
the soft dangle of sunshine on our ant hills of busy.
There is an ache that grows in me every August.
A desire that pants with purpose
for deeper,
richer,
more fulfilling
experiences.
To suck, as it were, the marrow from the bone,
leaving no un-investigated stone.
It could just be me,
musing through the movements of my heart this month,
putting language to the blunt edges of my longing,
but I could also be reading a page from your journal too.
And if I am,
hear me,
follow your hunger to the source.
Put blinders on.
Press mute on the noise.
Get serious with your pick ax & head lamp
& let's dig deep together,
unearthing summer's final kiss.
There is so much hidden in plain sight
and like Steven Tyler,
I don't wanna miss a thing.
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