August

I am listening to the sounds of the tree frogs and insects. The sky is becoming darker with each passing moment. A bit of moonlight is visible through the trees, and the bats are starting to come out, first one, then another, darting through the sky, suddenly swooping low and then disappearing from sight.

When I look up at the sky again it is completely grey, and the dark silhouettes of the leaves remind me that too soon the branches will be bare once again …

The moon is waxing – it is almost full.

In the darkening sky the moon’s light is at once magnified; there is something almost startling about seeing it there. Why does the moon, shining so brightly, look out of place in the cloudless evening sky? It looks as though it cannot be real.

A gentle breeze sweeps through the trees, and the leaves seem to whisper of the approaching night.

The evening air washes over me, softly, silently, holding me in its grasp me for a moment, then stealing away, fading into the darkness.

And all at once everything is still.

There is a coolness in the air. The summer heat seems to have let up at last. The nights are colder and the days are no longer so terribly hot.

I walk beneath the trees and hear a cricket chirping nearby, somewhere at the edge of the forest. The stars are now scattered through the sky, and the evening has turned into night, just as the summer will soon turn to winter.

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