"I wanted to stay as I was
still as the world is never still,
not in midsummer but the moment before
the first flower forms, the moment
nothing is as yet past-"
~ Louise Glück, opening lines to "The Doorway," in The Wild Iris
Part of me still thinks it's April. That splintered half is always slightly behind - yet always happy, and hopeful. The here-and-now me knows it's June 28th. Very soon I'll hear the *woosh* of hot air balloons overhead and my other, other half - the one who's always a grey spot on a stormy, yellow field - will give me a subtle nod from up ahead, signaling that this is the half-way point of something I don't want to come to an end. (Sometimes it's better to ignore each other.)
Summer. The word itself is light golden, and billowy like a thin sail. Oh, how I love summer. If only I could capture it in a butterfly net and hold it captive for two extra months.