The first week of August hangs at the very top of the 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 the 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
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This is really good writing. The first week of August historically has been a time I do not look forward to. This almost makes me look forward to it. Almost.
We'll have to see how it plays out this year...
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