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Joe Kreger AugustAugust The summer's been around so long that you can't remember spring, and you know that it is August when the locust starts to sing. The cloudless sky is a white-blue haze. Dust devils start to form, and you find yourself a wishin' for a good old thunderstorm. The ponds have gone to droppin'. The creeks are gettin' low. The calves have quit their playin'. They just amble kinda slow. Your old dog lays and snoozes. He's gotten way too fat. Don't think he'd even bother to chase his fav'rite cat. Cows brush up by nine A.M. and lay there in the shade. Grass has lost that lush green look, just kinda starts to fade. Horseflies are doin' that vampire thing in a spot a tail can't hit, and nothin' sounds as good to you as a shady place to sit. Heat waves rise and dance around on the road and through the valley while August gets the stage all set for summer's Grand Finale. Date: 8/27/07
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