Dear August. Every year I decide that I will like you. You are the last hoorah of winter before Spring arrives and I think, how bad can you be. And every year you show me just how bad you can possibly be. You are gloomy, cold and rainy for most of your 31 long and dreary days. So when there is a break in your sorry habit of horizontal, chill to the bone rain, we make the most of it.
