Dear August -
The sound of your name can be so evocative and lyrical -- which I’m sure is one of the reasons Tracy Letts evokes you in that famous play of his. Alas, as much as we love your name, your time with us this year was a bit worrisome. Speaking more frankly – it was a real downer -- and we’re hoping that perhaps a little post-visit communiqué might pave the way for a more gracious you in 2012.
Searing is the primary word that comes to mind when we think of you raging across the landscape like a banshee, finishing the job your sister July started of crisping and reducing our little corner of the world into swaths of crunchy, desiccated brown. If this behavior of yours was vengeance for a lack of proper recognition of your station in the grand scheme of the calendar, we do humbly and genuinely apologize.
Most of us puny humans now understand just how illustrious you are and that by failing to acknowledge your magnificence, we totally and completely screwed up. As the eighth glorious month of the year, you are uniquely situated on the calendar, a powerful and dare we say it … terrible denouement like no other.
How on earth we missed your brilliance previously … well, let’s just say you can chalk this one up … again … to the vagaries of human nature, i.e. stupidity. It appears our inherent narcissism, blathering on and on about ourselves, self-aggrandizing of our microscopic lives, our naïve belief in our “brilliance” and ability to outfox your mom -- Mother Earth -- is also our Achilles' heel. We do seem to be discovering that we have a rather humongous heel and alas no shoes will cover it.
Please know dear August, that we have fond memories of you when you were more agreeable and less temperamental. Most of us have learned our lesson and do solemnly promise to never underestimate or overlook you again.
Now that you’re gone, if there’s any intelligence or humbleness left in our wanton species, we’ll be planning way ahead for your return in 2012. We ask in return that you consider sparing us from any disagreeable moodiness and return to us more tolerant of character, less scathing, more loveably mischievous, less tyrannical. We’d love to frolic with the gentler August again, the one that allows for a cool, flirty breeze every now and then and nighttime lows below boiling.
For any magnanimity you care to show us, we’ll be eternally grateful -- 31 days of hell proved to be more than enough.
With great reverence --
The Human Race