cape lookout to netarts

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cloverdale to nestucca

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Goffle Brook Park view

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August

August, when the atomic bomb was dropped a year before I was born.

I remember an August childhood vacation trip in Canada with my family

Staying at some motel near Montreal listening to the radio at night with my brother

In bed in the dark hearing the horrible stories of the survivors of Hiroshima

Not understanding the import of what I was hearing.

August, when cancer took my mother I was still a child.

I remember in August being allowed into the hospital room to see my mother

Ushered in with my brother and sister we are standing by her bed

Not told it is our good-bye visit but sensing what is happening

Soon ushered out again when my mother is crying softly as am I.

August, when we begin counting the remaining days of summer.

I remember the glorious August sunsets seen on vacation in Vermont

Staying in a grand house named Great Oaks on a dirt road

With a pond and brook across the road for a boy to explore

With a dairy farm down the road where I was welcome to wander around.

August, when sweet corn picked fresh from the field comes into season.

I remember shucking the back yard corn and picking tomatoes from the vine

And snapping green beans plucked from the garden to cook for dinner

Savoring good fresh food when there is plenty

Even as the days get shorter and the tree leaves lose their sheen.

August, when my birthday is a time of remembrance.

Waiting my turn after my older brother in June and my younger sister in July

My mother taking me and some friends to see a Red Sox game at Fenway

Not understanding then it is too proximate to her troubled marriage anniversary

We have very good seats behind first base and I can see the players are real people.