First August Blog.
August, named for the Ceasar,
Though why, I cannot tell.
Nor June, for one of the Godesses,
It rings in my ears, like a bell.
July is named for another
Of Rome’s mighty rulers, iyou see,
March is called after the God Mars,
How heavenly can those Romans be?
January after the God Janus,
It’s all blessed Roman, and why?
May, the Godess of Honour,
We observe her approach, then sigh.
Others are named after numerals
Which the Romans, again, instilled,
Apralis, ‘to open’, is April,
So many a month name, is filled.
Februus, Italian old God,
To make all the people feel pure,
Januarus, beginnings and endings,
It starts the year well, I’mokji sure.
I think that about covers the calendar,
All Roman, or Italian, it’s true,
No Gods now remind us of reverence,
Just a year of good cheer, for me and you.
Copyright Evelyn J. Steward. August, 2015.
August, the month of my birth. Never the same each year. Sometimes hot, others cool and rainy in parts. As it is mainly the school holidays, it would be nice if the weather was consistant. But then again, it has to be said that August, for those in the Northern Hemisphere, is the eighth month of the year and is, by now well past the mid-summer yardarm.
It should be a time of ripening bounty, crops in the fields, golden yellow, corn, wheat etcetera. Trees full of purple and yellow plums, rich and juicy, almost ready to be plucked. Apples, green and red, filling out on the branches, pears mellowing. The main flush of ripe red strawberries almost over, but there are gooseberries and raspberries, ready for eating still. Melons and fattening pumpkins, growing, but not yet ready for harvest. Definitely, fruit and vegetables burgeoning. Oh, how wonderful in olden times, for such abundance coming available to be eaten with relish, some stored away for the barren winter times. A glutteny for the hunter/gatherers who were yet to become farmers, moving across the land, plucking riches available in abundanc in the land through which they travelled.
A storecupboard of food, possibly buried in caches, to be found when winter laid its white mark across the earth. Nuts, stored maybe in stone ‘wells’ for fear squirrels and other marauding creatures would dig them up. We have no way of telling if this was so. We can only surmise because we are here now. Some must have survived the harsh times, or we would not be here today.
However, I was talking about August, named, or rather renamed, for the Roman Emperor Augustus. The word/name even (to me) sounds plentiful,, bountious, plumptious, which indeed does denote the burgeoning month.
A little sonething……
“”””Rosie strolled into the garden, its beating heat, curtesy of a brilliant Augustian summer, pouring its bounty over grass and shrubs alike.
Her namesakes, red and pink and white, and all shades inbetween, not to mention the yellow and salmon colours, gave off wafts of gorgeous scent as she passed by. Nothing else like the perfume of roses, she thought. And it was true! MAny flowers were highly scented, and she grew lots of different kinds, but apart from the honeysuckle, which was pervasive, the roses remained her favorite.
Removing seceteurs from the bag she carried around in the garden, she reached over the nearest bush and dead-headed a few wilting blooms. The sweetness invaded her nostrils. Each rose, though typical of the rose family, had a slighly different aroma. Some were delicate, barely there, while others were strong, demanding that she stop and wallow in their scent.
August was the true month for roses here she lived. In good years, the winds dropped in the valley, letting the heat settle low to the ground. One only had to keep the bushes watered for them to give up their freshness, their colour, so vivid or so pale, their pungency, with fervour.
This was a good time. This was August, well and truly August.”””””
With the sun shining, today is August the first. Have a very good month.