weebiscuit
Well-Known Member
Did you ever notice how August whines? There is the constant hum and buzz of insects in the trees that you don't
hear in quite the same way the rest of the year. It almost sounds like telephone wires are vibrating at a high speed.
May hums. A merry hum, a happy hum. Gentle breezes and spring rains and the dormant plants coming to life under the soil. Like soft humming that we can hear only if we listen very close.
June sings. A joyous song, a song of life. Birds calling to each other, squirrels chattering and arguing over seeds and last autumn's nuts. Crows screeching their raucous cries as they fight over nesting places in the pines. The earth turns green
almost overnight. Trees suddenly explode and grasses send up tender shoots, while the gardens look like seas of color. June sings loud and lush.
July sighs. The plants and animals are hot and tired, but they wait patiently for the life-water of rain, and when it comes they put out another burst of activity, only to struggle once more as the sun returns. They are used to this war with the
heat and dryness, so July sighs and resigns itself to continue into August.
Then August whines. many insects are completing their life cycles, and they scream and cry in protest in one last angry shout against their own nature. Plants start to shed their seed and their dry stems rattle and grate against each other. The nights are cooler, and fog settles in the valleys and blankets the hills, waiting to be burnt off by the morning
sun. As the mists fade, the flowers all cry out for attention from the sun, while fighting off the death
that will soon overtake them and push them into dormancy. Grasses yellow and put out seed, invading garden space in a greedy fight for life; taking over so quickly that the less tenacious perennials feel bruised and crushed. Birds get nervous as the days grow shorter, and their mating calls of the spring are replaced with chirping and fighting in midflight. They know that they must gather their strength for soon they will depart. Cocoons are spun and eggs are laid, tucked away under leaves and sod and fallen trees. Everything waits for the killing frost, protesting loudly but futilely. August whines.
And September trembles. Dried grasses by the sides of the roads shake in their deaths. Nuts fall from the trees, corn stalks shiver in the fields. September trembles, wondering, will the killing frost sneak into her home and steal the last flowers remaining in the garden before October's comes, or will September be graced by nights warm enough to coddle nature's bounty? Will September survive and become October, or will nature strike a killing blow during its moon? September trembles with uncertainty.
hear in quite the same way the rest of the year. It almost sounds like telephone wires are vibrating at a high speed.
May hums. A merry hum, a happy hum. Gentle breezes and spring rains and the dormant plants coming to life under the soil. Like soft humming that we can hear only if we listen very close.
June sings. A joyous song, a song of life. Birds calling to each other, squirrels chattering and arguing over seeds and last autumn's nuts. Crows screeching their raucous cries as they fight over nesting places in the pines. The earth turns green
almost overnight. Trees suddenly explode and grasses send up tender shoots, while the gardens look like seas of color. June sings loud and lush.
July sighs. The plants and animals are hot and tired, but they wait patiently for the life-water of rain, and when it comes they put out another burst of activity, only to struggle once more as the sun returns. They are used to this war with the
heat and dryness, so July sighs and resigns itself to continue into August.
Then August whines. many insects are completing their life cycles, and they scream and cry in protest in one last angry shout against their own nature. Plants start to shed their seed and their dry stems rattle and grate against each other. The nights are cooler, and fog settles in the valleys and blankets the hills, waiting to be burnt off by the morning
sun. As the mists fade, the flowers all cry out for attention from the sun, while fighting off the death
that will soon overtake them and push them into dormancy. Grasses yellow and put out seed, invading garden space in a greedy fight for life; taking over so quickly that the less tenacious perennials feel bruised and crushed. Birds get nervous as the days grow shorter, and their mating calls of the spring are replaced with chirping and fighting in midflight. They know that they must gather their strength for soon they will depart. Cocoons are spun and eggs are laid, tucked away under leaves and sod and fallen trees. Everything waits for the killing frost, protesting loudly but futilely. August whines.
And September trembles. Dried grasses by the sides of the roads shake in their deaths. Nuts fall from the trees, corn stalks shiver in the fields. September trembles, wondering, will the killing frost sneak into her home and steal the last flowers remaining in the garden before October's comes, or will September be graced by nights warm enough to coddle nature's bounty? Will September survive and become October, or will nature strike a killing blow during its moon? September trembles with uncertainty.
