Losing Time

Clouds mask the August sky this morning as
sprinkles dot the sidewalk in dark gray blotches...

Fat crows waddle near the roadside for corn left
from last weeks harvest...

There is no breeze.
No perfumed air.

Only the sound and smell and feeling
of August dying.

The month curls up like a dead flower-
already empty of color and energy,
ready to drop off the calendar
like powdered ash.

I don't attempt to save it.

How could I?
I lived its days and they were mostly sweet.

But some memories are like a burden
that cripples your future.
You have to keep walking down that big road
till you reach the end.

And who knows when that will be?

September will be fresh at first.
New and full and promising.
It will bring vibrant colors and intoxicating smells
and skies so blue they take your breath away.

But, it too, shall melt away.
Wrinkle, dissolve,

wither beneath the weight of October.

How can we find happiness in something so brief?

...And yet, we do.