So, July came to an end, and I had fulfilled my self-imposed commitment to write three poems a day. (I skipped one day and then made myself write six to catch up. I’m a taskmaster.) And now it’s August, and I’m poking along aimlessly — or, more accurately, being pulled in a million directions at once.

Big event at work. Third anniversary of my mom’s death. Concert by my favorite band ever, ever. The slow, yet hurtling wind-down of summer. Impending start of school (after Labor Day — we go late around here) for both kids. Lots of loose threads; lots of things in transition. Also, I’ve discovered that watching a couple-three hours of TV every single night for multiple weeks is not conducive to writing great poetry (though maybe I’m storing away great moments of human drama to write about later?).

I’m tired. I’m getting tossed around a lot. I was not at all surprised to read that it’s rip tide season for our portion of my beloved Lake Michigan. That’s how August feels to me. It always does — and maybe that’s OK.

I’m going to ride it out and not make any huge commitments … and know that September will come. (Do you ever lose that back-to-school feeling?)

If you’re feeling like I am, here’s to a restful close to summer and renewed energy in the fall!