The thing I hate about August is it’s fruit fly season. These pesky little flying things are everywhere, dropping into teacups, wineglasses and my sourdough starter. They can get in even when there’s a cover. I have to set up a trap with an apple vinegar and dish soap trap or else they’re going to drive me nuts. I am half way there already with shorter daylight hours. I am noticing my rising moodiness. It’s another thing I hate about August. The fruit and house flies adds to the lot.
Thank God there’s no forest fire smokes this year. I dread it every August but there’s less and less of it every year now. Perhaps there’s no more forests to burn. What a cheerful thought, eh? And perhaps there’s no climate change and Donald Trump is just a figment of our imagination. I better cool and change my thoughts or I’ll think myself into a trash bin. I hate these runaway ugly thoughts of mine. What can I do about it?
What I have learned from experience is that it does not help to talk about it to people. It make me feel worse. I try to keep silent and wrangle some words here instead. Tapping works out the kinks. There’s no judgement. There’s no shoulds. August days when I feel like this, I love my keyboard. I love watching the letters and words march across the screen. It’s my inhale and exhale. These August days, I love having coffee at the mall with my mother’s and now mine friends. I love listening to their stories of how they came to Canada, their hardships and their joys. I love their generosity of showing their appreciation of my company.
I love how the light changes in August. There’s a softening and luminosity about it. The garden looks so beautiful in August lights. And I am happy again despite the shortening of days.
