August the month of insanity, excessive solar radiation disrupting all thoughts, no calm, no peace, the Earth spinning one step ahead of my abIlity to keep pace? As a child, in August, I would dive into water, hold my breath, smelling the algal lake water in my nostrils, while swimming submerged as long as possible. The compression of water a sanctuary.
What sanctuary is there now from August’s onslaught? A world so mad it admits not its own madness, never confessing its own sins. The world pressing down like the meaning of The Second Coming by William Butler Yeats as we are “Turning and turning in the widening gyre…”
And yet, I doubt “some revelation is at hand.”
Only slouching…