August. Sixty degrees, 8 a.m. Sunshine warms my deck, just outside my bedroom door. April sneaked back for a visit. Petunias and moss roses blaze with color in their pots. Cats Sally and Zoey rub my legs, reminding me to brush them. Meggie the dog is jealous, saying me too. Squirrels scramble in the grass searching for the treats I threw to them. A sassy unseen bird sings a spring song--not a summer song--a spring song.
I sit on the glider drinking coffee, eating a cookie.
So many Aprils; so many Augusts. Aging is hard. April in August is brilliant.
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