We've been wearing our burdens like thick, heavy furs, and summertime stepped up beside

us whispering kindly, may I take your coat?

I hope you've let her.

It's been a few months of cool shadows under canopy of trees, long, late light past their

bedtime.

The ripe taste of sun and water and dirt that's become fruits and vegetables deep-red and bright

orange.

June arrived empty-handed, a grin white across her young face.

Did she pull you to the coast, beckon the sea to smooth out the jagged edges that have

formed within and around you?

Did you let the salt burn the wounds, let the sand rub off the dead skin, let the night

time hold you still in quiet until the first promise of mourning showed up on the horizon?

Did she lead you to the hills, the smell of wet earth beneath the shadow of leafy trees

filling you up and grounding you down?

Or did June look more regular this year, keeping you close to home, to work and obligation,

eagerly poking her head into your kitchen, your backyard, your informal celebrations and

family reunions, bringing in watermelon and lemonade to remind you she's still here,

even though you've got a lot going on.

Maybe June didn't get much attention this year, refuse to carry shame about that.

You'll be glad to know June is always happy to play a supporting role, content to be

the warm, colorful backdrop of our lives, humbly delivering us onward, bidding farewell with

a wave and a sun-kiss smile.

...