This is June.
Welcome my dear June.
Juno. The Queen of the Gods. The Patroness of Marriages. May we all move forward and worship at altars of the sun. The days are longer and sleep is shorter yet we all still feel so awake.
Playgrounds and parks are full of children free from school. Plazas and patios are full of professionals making excuses for longer lunches. Skin shines baked red tan and yet we ask for no relief.
June meant the summer approached. It meant the launch of something new, exploration. Yes, no more time spent in the fetid halls of public schools or on campuses where the everyday felt so much the same. It is a time for mountains and air and hikes and heartbreak.
June is still safe enough in Spring, in the cooler months, where plans tend to not fall apart. Before the droll heat settles in, baking parking lots and roadways, wilting flowers. Before the city rises into a chorus of air conditioners compressing air.
June, my dear June. The arbitrary place in space and time and somehow my coming to existence happened within you. A long month where I consider the helpless task of aging, getting older. The constant question: is this the right place? Is it the right time?
This is June. I favor you.