Glaswen (August)

The Welsh noun glaswen literally means a “blue smile”, one that is sarcastic or mocking. By adulthood we have met that blue smile. Something we’ve said or done is met not with care or understanding or affirmation, but with a look that wishes us dead, that wants us brought down to size, to be made a fool of. Pride registers, envy betrays its owner. We contrast this with the warmth of a red smile, the smile we recognise in friendship, at the very least friendliness. The blue smile cools affection, freezes feeling. If it was August we’d wish it November.

Tiám (August)

The Farsi noun tiám means “the twinkle in your eye when you first meet someone.” We wonder if it’s the twinkle American and Iran diplomats had when they first met for nuclear talks. We don’t need to wonder for long. By August eyes tightened. We might hear tiám in love songs or unsentimental lyrics about lasting friendship. Two little syllables lighten lines. Though fleeting by comparison, tiám’s like Herbert’s “quick-eyed Love”. We remember the first time we met those with whom we share our life. We remember the tiám of those whom we will not meet again in this life.

Komorebi (August)

Incalculable are the leaves preparing to emerge in August in Australia. A census could not calculate their profusion, mere statistics would crash the whole system. We are not talking simple millions. As they emerge the sun engenders their growth and we are blessed who may read the print version at leisure, no retrieving or tapping. The Japanese have the noun komorebi, “the sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees”, descriptive of the sun’s interplay through trees, but maybe also cognate with the longer Germano-Grecian word, photosynthesis. Komorebi: a colour word, sunlight seen through green foliage, creator and created.

Feuillemort (August)

The top of the city is feuillemort today. The feuillemort health centre, feuillemort cinema, and the Hill of Content. The trees are alive with feuillemort branches and seedpods. Feuillemort, a French adjective “having the colour of a faded, dying leaf”, apposite for Anzac House and the gay Paris End of Collins Street. St. Patrick’s spires are feuillemort all year round, poking up for all to see above the matching feuillemort Parliament House. August is about as feuillemort as it gets in Melbourne, as people on trams talk into their wires about resorting to paper now the Census site is dodgy.

Lime (August)

In August the lightest green comes out on pruned branches of the plum tree. Soft green so soft it’s almost white. Is there a word? Sorbet. Celery. Lime. Soon white blossom bursts on wood, supernovas in our astronomy, microdot starbursts, how every form has a purpose. Tiny frills of parsley are transplanted into mud, little chard shoots of crimson and green are popped in divots for rain, rhubarb leaves thin as a cuticle go into the soil for spring. Chamomile fragments spry and jagged are ready, once ground is prepared. Gardening, our fingers get little red cuts, black under nails.

Mimosa (August)

Autumn possums sheared branches of their foliage, branches that undulate through the air like rivers, and now we break or saw these branches, making space. In August the lightest yellow comes out on the wattletree at the window. Soft yellow so soft it almost phases into white. Is there a word? Straw. Champagne. Mimosa. For a fortnight the wattletree goes soft while we hurry-up breakfast, find our way to daily places, take calls, send emails, deal with mess, read about the real world, return and share and read and watch, or talk against pillows and sometime turn out the lights.

Indigo (August)

Mood Indigo played by Thelonious Monk in the stairwell of old Carlton when we were crazy and uninformed and Chernobyl hadn’t happened but Three Mile Island had. Mood Indigo on the ear stirrups of our craniums when we knew no better and the Soviet hadn’t fallen but Persia had. Rude Indicator by Thessalonians Drunk on zithers of old sleep-ins when we were sleeping it off and Nine Eleven hadn’t happened but November Eleventh had. Mood Indigo on the record player of Carlton in August when we were Thelonious Monk in our craniums and nothing much was happening and something had.

Silver (August)

Debating Society notes: “That every cloud has a silver lining.” Armchair Revolutionaries argued most clouds don’t have silver. That clouds don’t have linings at all. Backseat Drivers countered, it’s a glass-half-full thing. Metaphor! While there’s no gold at the rainbow’s end, this doesn’t mean it’s not true. ARs called this semantics. BDs broached science. If water can be called silver, then clouds are all silver lining and air. ARs accused BDs of being “all air”. Anyway, had they lined their pockets with the takings, thirty pieces of silver? BDs threatened to boycott August’s meeting if ARs’ personal attacks continued. Tie.