August Images

When I was a college English student, which was pretty much a lifetime ago, one of the types of literature I studied was poetry in its various forms. I became competent in dissecting the rhythms and rhymes of most poems I studied and occasionally could recognize how these contributed to the meanings of poems. Although I was not as adept at recognizing the symbolism in the poetry that my more perceptive classmates discovered, I became aware of how the various images the poets included helped to create the total essence of many poems. I was proud one afternoon when I had to explain the imagery in Wallace Stevens's "The Snowman," which began "One must have a mind of winter..." to my classmates, many who had not experienced the outdoors during winter that I, as a sportsman, had experienced.

Anyhow, the images of August are different from those we experience during most of the year. As a sportsman, I have become attuned to the sights and sounds of the month, which vary only slightly from year to year.

Along the stream, the green of the trees, farm crops, and lush streamside brush is the dominant hue; but if you are observant, there are various splotches of other colors out there. Wild black-eyed Susans may be the brightest flowers along the creeks I fish, though orange and yellow jewelweed blossoms are evident in many areas, too. On my trips to the stream or on evening drives with Donna and Sage, her dog, I admire the blue chicory flowers that line back roads in harsh places where plants have a tough time of it. Joe-pye Weed, Queen Anne's lace, and invasive mullein plants line many roads.

Evening rides are filled with sightings of deer (near posted properties), with the fawns now accompanying their mothers regularly. Rabbits, squirrels, and groundhogs often take chances by sprinting across back roads in front of us. Sightings of wild turkeys are nice treats, too.

The sounds of August are much different from those we enjoyed during spring and early summer. The songbird chorus of the early morning is much diminished and is replaced by the evening cacophony of the insect mob. The repetitive songs of snowy tree crickets and katydids dominate the evening air. When fishing, I sometimes find this irritating; other evenings, soothing. Donna told me that when she was young and lived adjacent to the woods, the night-time songs of crickets and katydids lulled her to sleep.

I guess a talented writer could combine these images of August into a nice poem.