August

Smells like summer,a garbage truck achieves a level of stench you tried to forget.salt at the beach and that seaweed dried and burnt.The heat and the sand achieves a certain quiet almost like a fresh snow,a few children's voices muted but audible,and of course a radio.Then the waves small steady come in then slowly recede a calming sound,a cold sound steady,not really comforting just there.Surely at the beach you learned why they call it a sandwich.The smell of baby oil and iodine nobody really knows why.Even now you laugh but totally deny.I would sit a bit but not long,got to walk,down to the tidal pools watch the baby fools chasing the starfish,now they're really cool.Crushing periwinkles with ancient stones.Tiny fish and other creatures unknown.Then a mothers yell,time to go home.Grab a last shell,multi skip one more magically flat stone.Put on your sandy sandals.Head to the car.A tremendously successful day,No time wasted ,and now you sadly drive away.