August in sub-Saharan Los Angeles is one of the great and awful tests of one's endurance, sanity and stamina.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
August depresses me a little. I don't even feel like eating. And when I don't eat, that's a sure sign of stagnation.
August used to be a sad month for me. As the days went on, the thought of school starting weighed heavily upon my young frame. That, coupled with the oppressive heat and humidity of my native Washington, D.C., only seemed to heighten the misery.
August brings into sharp focus and a furious boil everything I've been listening to in the late spring and summer.
Every year, August lashes out in volcanic fury, rising with the din of morning traffic, its great metallic wings smashing against the ground, heating the air with ever-increasing intensity.
When you get into the final week of the Tour de France, it becomes a different kind of race. As the distance and the fatigue really tell, that is when it becomes a proper test of everyone's fitness.
Sprinting for a full day in Atlanta in midsummer proved very challenging. That humidity is crazy. Georgia is a beautiful state, but the weather is intense. I was warned, but for some reason I thought it would be like L.A. in the summer. The reality? No.
August is the month of the high-sailing hawks. The hen hawk is the most noticeable. He likes the haze and calm of these long, warm days. He is a bird of leisure and seems always at his ease. How beautiful and majestic are his movements!
I am just through with a summer, and a summer is to me always a trying ordeal.
I don't have to get up in the morning and go beat up my body like I used to. I don't have to be out there in August in 108 degree weather down in Texas.
Summertime, and the reading is easy... Well, maybe not easy, exactly, but July and August are hardly the months to start working your way through the works of Germanic philosophers. Save Hegel, Heidegger, and Husserl for the bleaker days of February.