August here in the south is so hot you can fry an egg on the hood of your car. The sun burns your shoulders while you hurry from the car to the store and are grateful for some cool air conditioning relief. The humidity is so high you sweat buckets.
It is the season for hurricanes so we are stocking up on bottled water, batteries and other necessary supplies to sustain us and keep us safe. In the event we find ourselves in the of path of a monster, we will have to ‘hunker down’ as is the language of the storm watchers. We are always thankful for the generator we purchased a few years ago and have not yet had to use, and we will worry once more about whether or not we should have invested in hurricane shutters. We will know by November’s end if we won that gamble or not.
The names of the storms become so familiar, creeping into our everyday conversations as if they are real people living with us. For years after we refer to them as if they were distant relatives who had come to stay for a while. They were either good houseguests or not depending on the damage left behind.
Those hot August nights Moisture still hangs in the air Fan works overtime Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton - Poetry for Healing All Rights Reserved Frank Tassone is hosting Monday Haibun at D'Verse Poets and has prompted us with writing a Haibun about August. Image by Oberholster Venita from Pixabay