Days in June

The sixth month might be a favorite of mine. It's not quite as nice as the seventh, but it holds more promise, there's far more to look ahead too. The eighth month is also nice, but the later days can become chilly and studious.

This morning I read the poem "To Resist To Endure" by Amber Coverdale Sumrall. Despite describing the natural world of El Salvador, I found similarities to June in New England. Sumrall writes,

the coastal live oaks
mottled with scars
unfurl leaf
after leaf . . .

in the heat
moths emerge
descend like parachutes
silently over the forest . . .

caterpillars crawl the branches
devour lush determined growth
until there is no shade
only stark limbs
swaying

and the clenched fists
of the roots
hiding underground


Here, the daisies have grown along the highway, standing beside fuzzy wildflowers, yellow and violet.
The days are long, the mornings cool, the afternoons soft. In this corner of the woods, the loons are loud.

A few days ago, I stared at a sunset as my brother swam to the middle of the lake. He ducked under the water, swimming faster and faster, until I'd look up, blinded by the yellow river of light along the water's surface, unable to see him, eyes burning, before looking down, picking up twigs and rocks, watching spider webs move with the wind.