Hello, August

you are a second chance

Thank you for sharing a piece of your day here.

What you should know: I write about the collision point between humanity and holiness. I really like picking bouquets of flowers, especially wild ones. I drink my coffee black. I say yes to chocolate croissants. I know life is hard. I also know life is beautiful. Sometimes I wrote poems about it, or essays. Sometimes it’s podcasts and videos. Mostly I’m intent on turning my chin, your chin, and everyone else’s chin in the direction of wonder and freedom. And I’m so glad you’re here. I hope you’ll stay awhile.

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Hello, August.

I’ve dreaded your coming. I feel the cool of the mornings and the cool of the nights, and I shudder a little, knowing that I did not appreciate July as much as she deserved.

I missed her. Yes, there were moments where we interlaced our fingers and laughed, flinging off the dusty sincerity of routines and rhythms and going barefoot over acorns and moss, doing what you could only call “traipsing.”

But I wish we had traipsed more. I had intended to. I had intended to stay sprawled across hot rocks soaked in summer sun for whole days, stopping only for ice cream or salted dips in frigid waters. I meant to forget to toil, to shrug my responsibilities like a snake slips out of her skin.

Instead I built a box of them, and I stepped instead, and I pulled the lid down over my own head.

August, you are a second chance—or maybe even a third, if you count June, lost too soon. You are a late blooming flower, just coming into your own even now as the dahlias die, the lilies droop, and the lilacs are nothing more than ghosts. The cosmos attest to this; there is still something to grab here.

But it must be quick; it must be whole-hearted. I don’t think I could forgive myself if, thirty days from now, I’m staring down the barrel of Autumn with just a slipping handful of whimsy. It won’t be enough. I introduce myself to you now, August: Hi, I’m a hungry girl strung-out on duty who plans to eat her fill of delight before the harvest. If I am to make it through this winter, I must first gorge on the delicacy of lighthearted abandon.

Like a bear foraging for berries, I will nose through my days, sniffing out wonder until I’m stuffed with enchantment. If you find me inside, lure me out with exotic calls. Tantalize me with splendor. Remind me that wonder is the sustenance of the spirit, and then toss me from the cliffs of rigidity until I find myself doing the breaststroke in your fragrant waters.

Hello, August.

Some things I want to share:

• My poetry chapbook The Shape I Take is on sale this week from Bottlecap Press! Only $8! If you have been meaning to buy a copy but…life…now would be a stellar time. Go get ya’ one!

• You might know that I’m an editor with The Truly Co. Tonight, we’re having a content meeting where we’re discussing our next issue, Nature. If you’re interested in becoming a contributor for the magazine, COME! Here are the deets.

• My friend,

  Edward Holmes
  put together a stunning spoken word album that you can listen to on Spotify. If this is a world to you, I recommend you put in some headphones and explore. Holy cow. You’ll be encouraged.

• This last one is important: I am starting my first seminary class next Friday! At least until I get my feet under me, I’m going to be posting bi-weekly rather than weekly. I am trying to learn to allow myself more kindness and gentleness. This is a way that I can continue to write well—but also to mother, wife, study, and live well. Thank you all for your support in this!