August
Fairest of the months!
Ripe summer’s queen,
the hey-day of the year
With robes that gleam
with sunny sheen
sweet August doth appear.
August was originally named Sextilis, as it was the sixth month in the ten month Roman calendar. After January and February were added to the calendar, this month was renamed to honor the first Roman Emperor, Augustus. Born Gaius Octavius Thurinus, Octavius was adopted by Julius Caesar as his son and heir. The Roman Senate bestowed the title of Augustus to him in honor of his illustrious status. August is a pinnacle month, a time for ripening and abundance. The freedom brought to us from last month grows into a fullness of self. In August, we know who we are and the direction on our life’s compass. August, in her golden glimmer, illuminates the path ahead. Prepare for what’s next, because the flower has turned to fruit with all the lush ripeness that goes along with it.
Birth Customs of August
August Flower
Gladiolus proud and tall
adorn the August garden wall.
There the fragrant flowers glimmer
in the sunlight’s golden shimmer.
August Zodiac
In August fair the lion rules
And Leo doesn’t suffer fools
Next Virgo shines her starry face
To close the month with her sweet grace
Magic of August
Correspondences
Herbs: Chamomile, Orange, Bay
Totems: Lion, Phoenix
Stones: Cat’s Eye, Carnelian
Birthstone: Peridot
Birth Flower: Gladiolus
Celtic Trees: Vine & Ivy
Nature Spirits: Wisps & Djinns
Spellwork
Strength
Ripen
Illuminate
Power
Gather
Aromatherapy
Fresh Laundry
3 drops Cypress
3 drops White Fir
1 drop Peppermint
Meditation
Time ripens all things.
François Rabelais
Science of August
Astronomy
Name: August
Length: 31 Days
New Moon: August 1st
Perseids Meteor Shower: August 12th
Full Moon: August 15th
New Moon: August 30th
Zodiac: Leo & Virgo
Full Moon
Colonial American: Dog Day Moon
Celtic: Dispute Moon
Chinese: Harvest Moon
Choctow: Women’s Moon
Old English: Women’s Moon
Calendar of August
About Tu Fu
I met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat
his face was sad–
in the years since we last parted,
he’d grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then,
he must be agonizing over poetry again.
August
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend
all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking
of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body
accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among
the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.