It’s August already and even though tropical heat is still full on (well, at the very least until the end of the week), I can’t shake off a feeling that autumn is already sneaking up on me. Somehow when summer starts I’m always full of ideas of what to do, I’m like all set to meet thousands of new people, visit hundreds of new places, write a book or two, climb up some mountain, and whatever else there is. Yet every time when August comes and I look back on my summer it’s just yet another summer with plenty of sunshine or rain, but it’s never about conquering the top of the world in the end. Maybe early summer (May-June) sun makes me drunk with all the happiness and all these extra vitamins C and D, that I forget that this is yet another season, and it won’t last forever, not even long enough for me to pick my sorry ass up and find me some actual mountains to climb into.
Then August is here, and everything is in its place. But before August blues settle in for good, and before I’m ready to wave goodbye to my beloved summer, I’m still savoring the last bits of summer there are, and counting days before we’re going for the last trip this summer. Tents, sleeping bags and the rest of camping gear ready and at hand, bigger car arrangements made, route sort of finalized and agreed upon – I’d be ready to go in five minutes. Alas there’s still a whole week to go.