August rushes by like a desert rainfall.
A flood of frenzied upheaval,
But still catching me unprepared.
Like a matchflame
Bursting on the scene,
Heat and haze of crimson sunsets.
Like a dream
Of moon and dark barely recalled,
Shadows caught in a blink.
Like a quick kiss;
One wishes for more
But it suddenly turns to leave,
Dragging summer away.
By Elizabeth Maua Taylor
The sun sinks lower in the sky this evening, as the hills seem to swallow it up. It is smoldering red behind billows of smoky-blue clouds, which are engulfing the brilliant crimson as the sun slips lower over the horizon. The sky is changing swiftly now; the slate gray clouds are growing darker and blotting out every vestige of the crimson.
The sun has dropped out of sight and night begins to settle in the hills. Evening shadows darken, and the first twinkling stars begin to appear in the clear sky. The cry of the katydids begins to sound frantic, and cicadas add their thrumming song to the night sounds. The lonesome quirr of the tree frogs makes a late summer melody, as August tries to slip away from the hills. A few lightning bugs spark here and there, combined with the katydid's call. It is a symbol of the changing seasons.