What is so rare as a day in June?
Then if ever come perfect days.
Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune
And over it softly her warm ear lays. James Russell Lowell
A poet’s metaphor for the balanced days of June. A meteorologist or a climatologist would use scientific words but refer to the same thing – the days we know as perfect, as sweet, as delightful, as magic.
During the rest of the year, we are level-headed, aware. After the darkness, the doubt, the angst, and all the sorrows we have felt, after all that and more, come the days of belief and renewal. The days of June, our lives dotted with magic.
Color alone, the reality of greens rushing at us from everywhere: trees, bushes, gardens lawns, fields, forests, roadside, we are overtaken with shades of green. Every leaf that fell in October, every leaf we raked, piled, burned, mulched, hauled – every last one of them is back again in shades of green to join the riots of color. Daffodils, redbuds, forsythia, the flowers and vegetables we plant at home and add to the huge magical palate waiting for our eyes to see and our hearts to delight. Even algae, that most basic of greens, proves there is magic.
June, the month of graduations, an end of one thing and the beginning of another. Laughter, tears, shouts, food, dancing, families – celebrations of success, of belief, of ambition, of strength. Summer months to regenerate, to play, to get ready for “the next.” Perfect days.
Second only to October, June is the month of marriages, unions built on love, faith, the future. I have wondered, why June? And can only surmise: early crops are in, late crops will have an extra hand, summer months to prepare a sound home before winter, babies will be born before the next year’s harvest, the days are warm and beautiful. All solid practical reasons that miss the most important – the sheer magic of days in June.
June is Pride Month, a celebration of diversity. In one way, it seems strange to celebrate a fact as basic as gravity or sunshine: human beings are varied, different, multi-cultural, strange, as diverse as the shades of green. Yet we are We The People, and it is right to celebrate the differences and the overarching sameness. June, Pride Month, does that.
June is the beginning of hurricane season and we have already experienced the edges. Sirens and alerts I heard without hearing aids so I knew something serious was happening. Tornado warnings until 1 a.m. With a cup of coffee and my dog, I sat on the porch and watched, listened, and remembered the magic of a storm – lightning (one Mississippi two Mississippi…), and thunder and winds, caught up in sheer operatic sounds.
My mother taught, or shared, such magic years ago. Like all shy children, I was frightened by loud noises and harsh weather. I tried to hide but my mother took me for a walk during one mighty mountain storm. She lead me to the middle of a field, showed me the lightning drawn by the mineral rich cliffs above. I had no metal. I was safe. I felt the growl of thunder, stood soaked with rainwater. Safe on my porch In the crashing June night I knew her delight, her awareness of magic.
On the heels of summer solstice, Juneteenth. A wonderful word. A brilliant celebration in dance, in song, in belief that we are equal and free citizens of this democratic republic. We must act our belief, be judged by what we do, not by what we say.
And this month has exploded with other magical moments. A basketball win set millions mad with joy, in the streets people danced in joy that lasted for days. After so much corruption and nastiness, we needed to remember happiness. And, magically, there it was, backed by soccer wins and losses, the sheer physicality of being in or watching the skill and speed of games played in three countries. Everyone celebrates.
Equal to, maybe greater than, anything else this June, the Obama Presidential Center opened. Other than on my porch, that was the one place I would have liked being. To hear full sentences, to be reminded that good people help one another, that character counts, that laughter brings people together and music expresses the greatness within. This re-ignites my belief in the magic of time and change, in the overwhelming truths of choices made by the people and for the people.
I have a unique love for this month of rare days. As a teacher I assigned my students an essay a week. They groaned. I smiled. The writing improved. The groans quieted. I smiled. I remember many sentences, metaphors, descriptions, the poetry of an essay.
In June of last year, the editor of this paper told me that if I wrote, she would publish. And so every week, every two weeks now, I stumble on a subject, search for the poetry, send it, and find my words in print. Magic.