Well Hello, June.
A Welcome to Summer and the Solstice.
June.
When the seasons shift and the seeds birthed in spring transpire into the abundant blooms of summer. When the longest day of the year, the Solstice, summons the sun to stand still, an homage to its Latin roots. When movement and slowness take up equal parts of me, like a coffee cup that’s half-filled with milk.
June.
When strawberries become ubiquitous, popping up overnight, like the height of the brown-coated puppy husky named Poppy I met earlier this week. When the heart-shaped luscious fruit appears on cheeky outfits and babies donning onesies and mason jars with fresh jam and seeps over the side of blue pint containers at the farmer’s market. When I am reminded of a nickname that was once given to me, that will always be my own, Strawberry.
June.
When Mother Nature gets serious about her dress code, as if the garden is a club and only pink flowers are allowed inside. When peonies create a natural ombré, intensifying in pigment from white to light pink to dark pink, and the hydrangeas sneak to the front of the line, also allowed in the club, at least for now.
June.
When the neighborhood welcomes visiting birds, who all of a sudden begin singing in unison, an unexpected flash mob of singers. When the northern mockingbird perches on a nearby telephone wire, using its height to conduct the bird chorus of barn swallows and cedar waxwing and red-winged blackbirds. When the house sparrows, the predictable suspects, prance along the not yet too hot asphalt and the robins maintain their post, ever at attention, mowing the grass for worms. They hold a competitive advantage, because they never left.
June.
When the smell of a distant grill wafts its way into my nose and when allergies are gone and the sidewalks are busy with young couples and older ones, too, and when local hot girls take to the sidewalks because the weather is 75 degrees with not a trace of humidity.
June.
When a dad stands in the middle of a side street next to a a four foot pile of fresh mulch and beckons to his son to fetch the wheel barrel, initiating him into this next stage of life, as if offering him his first sip of beer.
June.
When a song sparrow nibbles cautiously on a bit of grass, sheepishly sneaking a bite from a dinner mate, in this case, a sweet, brown rabbit, who is happy to spare a nibble.
June.
When the cilantro is perky and the wildflowers spill messily onto suburban sidewalks, like rogue baby hairs that refuse to stay “in place,” though maybe their rightful place is where they naturally fall. When branches drip dangerously low to the sidewalk, offering to serve as a makeshift hairbrush to any human walking underneath.
June.
When a teddy bear brown toy poodle and black pitbull puppy beg for pets and a chipmunk scurries and a half moon hangs low in the sky at dusk, patiently waiting for a tardy dinner guest, nighttime, to arrive.
June.
When slowing down is encouraged and the heat goes up like my dad turning up the thermostat and the yellow-spotted grackle mimics the sound of a squirrel and the men don their cut off tops and a three year old lifts her left foot to the top of a bistro table to show off her sparkly blue jelly sandals and a grown man responds, “I love your shoes they’re so cute,” and if only he knew they were in style thirty years ago, too.
June.
When silky petals fall from peonies and something in us rises again and possibility becomes ephemeral and we soak it all in, one strawberry at a time. When the crow keeps watch from the peak of a roof and protects us from one another and from ourselves, too, its caws ominous to some, and illuminating to others.
June.
When all is as it’s meant to be.
Let’s Reflect
What are your favorite parts of June?
What are the places, spaces, things, that scream June to you?
As we shift into this new season, what are the intentions you are carrying with you?
As always, I would love to hear what this reflection is stirring in you. Thank you for reading, and a very Happy Solstice and transition to Summer, to you.
In loving,
Grace