June has always been one of my least favorite months of the year.
For me, June has always been salt-pricked eyes and scorched skin.
The sky breathes gentle warnings of storms beneath the sun’s tender heat on my face.
Freckles bloom across my nose like souvenirs from days I’ve once forgotten.
Afternoons stretch,
long and slow.
But that’s the point of summer,
of June,
to let go of the mechanical routines of the year,
to sit in the stillness.
I hate the stillness.
I need to keep moving.
June was once salt-pricked eyes and scorched skin.
June now is cherry stained kisses, heat lightning, and chess.
June is white water rapids, reread books, and watered down soda.
June is electric with change
and I’m ready to be struck.
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