It’s a sweet muggy slow summer month, peppered with vacations and sunblock and the pungent smell of New York City garbage, construction dust, sweat and perfume.  My cigarette smoke lingers in the air and I’m tan and sleepy, grateful for air conditioned respites at Bergdorf’s where I accompany the tourists and their fanny packs through the gilded floors of fall’s beckoning jackets.  Exhaustion rules the air with a force so strong everyone has given in.  There are no expectations, no rules of dress.  No hair too matted, no shorts too short.  We are torn between a need to escape and the will to trudge on, knowing soon there will be wind burnt cheeks and fantasies of tropical getaways.  Weekends are meant for train rides to the beach, leaving the city empty of spirit and hungry for the cool chill of next season.  Long days turn into restless nights and the fear and excitement of what life has in store is put on hold.  It doesn’t matter, the future or the past, August demands each moment’s full attention.  You know summer is slipping away and even though the sun will continue to shine for months, every last breath of freedom must be sipped.  August lingers whilst it threatens its inevitable end; weary of its unsustainable bliss we complain about the heat and pretend we haven’t succumbed to a more peaceful pace of life, finally relaxed enough to read an entire novel or go to the movies twice a month without guilt.  The suns rays are waning and I’m finally tan enough towithstand their noontime glare.  In a month I will refuse to see my bleach blonde hair as nothing other than a cause for low lights, and forget all about the ease of sandals as the hazy city streets are filled with people scurrying around in leather boots, hurrying to get everywhere.

In August it’s a downhill ride, and we must remember to enjoy it.

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