Here comes August

Here comes August. Came with the rains.
In this sense, he is truly right.
Making his way through dense forests,
with the tart smell of mown grass.

Something sad in this break
of hot summer, a feeling of anxiety.
Autumn is approaching like on a ferry,
and summer is running out of time

The green blessing has had its fun,
the drunken season has died down.
The gang of tanned teenagers
is not attracted by the river water.

Morning often greets with fog,
a breeze invigorates with a coolness.
The air is saturated with moisture and smells of:
rotten hay, a tasty mushroom.