Christmas now. August is the Sunday of the year. Agosto is a grandmother waiting in town for her relatives from the capital, who, after filling her crop with gazpacho, dreams of a pool, peaches and marshmallows in the shade of dry, hard, prickly pears. August is an opportunity for the backup radio operator, the occasional presenter who sucks up the queue for the rest of the year. In August, poets are even contemplating how to rhyme autumn as they unwittingly scare away the muses in petticoats that frighten flies and scatter adjectives. The poet who says that life is a journey does not bear fruit.
Switzerland became independent in August, a fact that we’ve included here so we can learn from this column. In August there is a stampede and the coward fears his freedom. A huge time hole opens up with no obligations before it.
‘August’ is the title of a Pulitzer Prize-winning book. Tracy Letsproclaims his love of books and “simple pleasures like finding wild onions by the roadside”. There were mussels on the beaches of my childhood. You dug a little and caught them hand in hand on the shore. Today I only see them in restaurants. Coquinas were my onions, just as others were in search of frogs or mushrooms.
August is the oasis of procrastinators, already in September, we will talk about it when we return. Rude at multitasking, August is regret when you do nothing and laziness takes over. In August, we started reading books about barbaric crimes that a drunk solitary detective is trying to solve in an exotic city that is not exotic for its inhabitants. Those who do not read a newspaper in August say that they do not read a newspaper in August.
In August, afternoons are shortened to remind us that nothing is eternal. In August the fighting intensifies so that red wine is not served “at room temperature”. Neither the cruelest month nor the empty days. June has no sensuality or October has no color; No Christmas lights, but his personality is superimposed on us. A man writes a proclamation for his town’s festivities, and an old man in a house misses the August of his childhood. He doesn’t remember what’s in his maturity. Plant a tree, have a child and work in August. for august August no matter how sometimes we seem to lack romance. August is for reading talk about humor. Wenceslao Fernandez Flores He entered the academy with a new fan and a Panama hat. The tourist in me. Second round please. Rebecca in the north. The best is always yet to come. for roasting