Lughnasdah

August stands, arms open, waiting to wrap summerfall around my shoulders, that fits with a comforting sigh.

The milky mornings a feature now of this marker in the chill dark of space. The nights are stealing back their hours more eagerly, making home comforts of book and bed more alluring.

Skies are strangely silent, summer friends riding warm winds away to foreign climes. Our stalwart winterers, bereft of broods,  turn to the choice fattening that the hedges have served. 

All signs we are slipping around the wheel that never stops, ushering us gently around the sun and seasons.