AUGUST: (O'GEST) NOUN, 31 DAYS, AIN'T MUCH

Between many darks and daylights there, at last, has come a pause in the petunias' occupations, such occupations having been to decorate and perfume by window boxes, hanging pots, steps, etc.

Now comes a break in the summer's petunia occupation and, like Longfellow talking to grave Alice, laughing Allegra and Edith with golden hair, I talk to my flowers in tones meant to be comforting. "This is going to hurt, but only momentarily." I tell them as with sharpened shears I whack off the long, leggy stems that have bloomed prodigiously this summer. "But," I continue, in solacing manners, "this is known as cut and come again."

What I removed wilted quickly as if they didn't believe a word I said. But the little green leaves left on two inch stems seemed to sigh and say, "Oh, is that a load off my shoulders." Maybe they said roots instead of shoulders. It is sometimes hard to make out or make up their reply.

I have to add a cup, sometimes more, of potting soil to each container. Where it goes, who knows? I suppose it slips put the bottom hole but it never looks as if anything but water is coming out there when I'm watering them, which has been a daily, sometimes twice daily task, this summer. I shouldn't call it a task for it is a pleasure to give water to something that is thirsty. Besides, it keeps me outside where I'd rather be in summer unless the thermometer is standing past 85 degrees.

I note that the flowers in the flower bed at the western entrance to Arena Park have been changed from petunias of last year to feathery red celosia this year. How smart. I don't think taxpayers would take kindly to seeing park workers spending hours pinching off dead petunia blossoms to keep the rest perky. The celosia are on their own, and pretty too, as they poke delicate fingers toward the sky, from whence cometh a lot of their help.

I might pause, insouciantly, beside the celosia bed when they are going to seed and pick up a twig that was surely going to fall off. Free seeds for next year. Oh, no, stolen seeds! Well, who knows what hard times we're going to have next year.

I surreptitiously picked up a fallen seed pod from a golden rain tree, too, broke it open and found three seeds inside just about the size and color of a green garden peas. Ever curious as to what happens to seeds, I put them into there little peat pots and inspect them daily. I wonder if golden rain trees are hybridized or grafted. If so, should my three mature I may get garden peas!

Alas, the Troll Bridge has been blocked off at both ends with woven wire fencing. At least it is red woven wire. "Getting too dangerous," one of the Park workers explained.

"Are they going to re-build it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"When?"

There was just a shoulder shrug in answer. I did not go into any explanation about "my" troll who lives underneath the bridge for fear, ere I got home, one of those official looking cars with whirling red and green light might be following me, ready, willing and able to cart me off to Troll Land.

This is the time of year I like to haunt the stores to see what is new in school supplies and if there has been and drastic changes. A few years ago I saw a caricature of the Indian that had decorated the cover of Big Chief tablets of many years. Some company, tired of tradition, and maybe competition, had added a moustache to an Indian on the cover. My reaction was "Obscene!" It is a word that is thrown about carelessly these days.

There are more calculators now and I thought of the recent cartoon in a paper where a distracted clerk didn't know how many $10 bills to exchange for a $100 bill because "their system" was down.

There certainly is no excuse for students to get their homework mixed up. Inside folders are convenient little pockets for everything. I love them and just had to buy a few for myself. "Now in this pocket will go my bills," I tell myself. "And in this pocket will go receipts. And here I'll put my unanswered questions." What will some of them be? Where are the butterflies this summer? I've seen only one swallowtail. If the Monarchs don't do a fly-over later on, I'm calling Bush or Clinton or Greenpeace!

What happened to the rabbit family? I've seen only one baby rabbit. Where does the potting soil go?

Why are my tomato skins tough? Why didn't I have any paw-paws this year? Where has the garden snake gone? Why do my knees seem to need oil of a morning? Oh my, I may have to buy two folders. Who was Longfellow's Bishop of Bingen in his Mouse-tower on the Rine?

REJOICE!