The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after.
~ Natalie Babbitt
(Tuck Everlasting)
Precisely! So well said of these last few days. I love how you find all the right words that attribute the seasons and days. And the words that may pass our lips due to August….blank hot noons and I may add hot blazing rooms!!
Thank you, Susan! These dog days are sure hard to pull through, aren’t they? The unrelenting heat and humidity have pushed me to do and say quite a few things I am sorry for now… But now the days are getting shorter ~ come autumn!