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Jazz in August

There is something about August that feels like limbo, like the in-between. The almost but not yet. For many August means the beginning of a new academic year, either to learn or to teach, it holds a definitive meaning, a purpose. For others, August is simply the continuum of the current year, the only noticeable change is marked by the rise in humidity and the change of shopping displays.


I fall in the second category. I do not have children in school, and I do not teach so, the month of August I find quite odd. August is much like jazz on a late Saturday morning. One of those mornings where you slept in a bit too late but yet there is still softness in the air because it is not yet noon. The sun is up and touching everything with its glow, but the coffee pot has just begun to brew, and the eggs remain unscrambled.


Late morning, the in-between, the almost but not yet. I find that Jazz is perfect for this exact moment. It floats through the kitchen mixing with all of the other morning sounds. The sax crooning along with the birds while the horns harmonize with the toaster. Just like August perfectly mixes with the laziness of a July summer and the fresh beginning of a September fall.


August, the in-between, the month where it feels like my toes are dipping in two different worlds. The month that croons and harmonizes with the rest of the year is just like that beautiful music of Jazz.




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