August Hugo; “Rainy Days”

Artist Feature: August Hugo / Writing / Class of 2026

By Maia Lippay

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“Rainy Days” by August Hugo

It was time. Rain pitter-pattered on the roof, dripping off in waterfalls. Bouncing away I

go, collecting my rain boots and umbrella, returning from my long trek downstairs. I rouse my

dear sister from her slumber, it's raining! It's raining! I don't care if she thinks she's too old for

this, too mature, because there's no way in anything I'm going out alone. I'm the first to slip out

the door, unfurling my umbrella up to the crying sky. Because she's older and is always right my

sister got the purple umbrella speckled with cute ladybugs, so that means I'm stuck with the pink one, polka dotted and frilly. The air has that certain smell, that first-rain-of-the-summer mixed with dirt kind of smell, the kind that lots of people love, the smell that I don't like because it stings my nose. The water on the sides of the road crowd together as it forms gushing rivers,

sweeping away everything in its path. Even though it's small and narrow I like to pretend that It's

bigger than me, bigger and taller than any I've seen before. Across the street is our neighbor who waves frantically before splashing across the river on her side of the street, then through our river. My sister joins us as we scramble to the backyard, all screaming and laughing like its a

gigantic flood. The dirt is cold and hard as we scrape at it, turning it to mush in our hands as is

gets mixed with the water from above. It takes many trips to finally get the amount of mud and

rocks that we need, but finally we're ready. My umbrella is left on the side as I'm given the rocks

to place in those little canals. Slowly and surely our dam is built up, and water pools and swirls

around it. By this point my hands are cold and red but because I'm the youngest and don't know

as much as they do, I have to keep going. Sticks used as rafts, leaves, and origami boats go

sailing down our big little river, our monstrous tsunami, test subjects under the keen eyes of my

sister and her friend. I'm cold, I'm cold. And because she's my sister and she's older, and knows

how to count to bigger numbers and read longer books, she takes my hands and walks me inside, to the warm air of home. Not everything about having her is so bad.

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August Hugo is a writer and sophomore at St. Mary’s Academy. They find writing to be a communicative process, allowing them to express what they do not know how to say out loud. He also notes that writing can be a revealing art that can help him to understand the outer workings of his life. On the topic of particular writing interests, they said “I love to write about people in my life as a way to express my appreciation for them, because the most influential people in my life are one of my main sources of inspiration.”

August Hugo