I’m approaching you warily. After so many, many years on this island I know about August, the most difficult month of the year. Only comparable to February in northern climes; that shortest, longest month of the year, spent with fingers and noses pressed against windows longing to be anywhere but where your feet are planted. Hello August. I offer a flower, a plumeria, redolent of velvet thick heat, dark nights sprinkled with stars, heat lightning over water. Look graciously on me as I pass through each long allotted hour, one after another after another, strung like beads of topaz, clear golden fire.