August. The word stands as an expression of undisputed majesty and the worship of high position. In 45 B.C. the Roman Senate proclaimed: "Whereas the Emperor Augustus Caesar, in the month of Sextillis . . . thrice entered the city in triumph . . . and in the same month Egypt was brought under the authority of the Roman people, and in the same month an end was put to the civil wars; and whereas for these reasons the said month is, and has been, most fortunate to this empire, it is hereby decreed by the Senate that the said month shall be called Augustus."
To us, August is summer's fruition. Sweet corn on the cob, tomatoes, red ripe and ready, melon, cantaloupe, cucumbers and squash on the vine, apples ripe or nearly so, pumpkins in the field, hives filled with sweet honey, grain soon ready for harvest -- in an eternal transition between tender kernel and pod or bean and autumn's hard seed.
Hammocks swing beneath the live oaks' shade, where lawn chairs invite a chat. Cicadas and katydids, with their built-in fiddles, shrill summer love songs while honey-laden bees hum. Thunderheads build along the afternoon horizon. With sundown, stars come awake, a bullfrog sings, and lightning bugs mock the flickering of distant lightening.
August brings us to that time when nature brings her works into a grand and undisputed majesty, just as she always has and always will.