You’re the smackdab middle of the slowrolling summer heatwave, the gradual build from June’s steady temperament to August’s fullbellyswell, where the sweat slides down your sides and neck in its sweet and salty way. July, mark seven in the year’s twelve step. July, the colors of a nation celebrated.
June wrapped me up in soul connection, active practice in staying present, heightened political awareness, devouring the written word and finding my way back to those primitive, pen to paper writing roots. Two notebooks and disposable camera filled with things both personal and potentially blog-worthy, though that’s yet to be determined (hence the blog silence as of late). June, you’re a week in the rearview and I miss you already. But July holds a promise like savory apple pie scent wafting from an oven, counting down the seconds til latticed goodness is released.
I’ll take a slice, thanks.