June

As a child I was always eager for June to arrive.

June brought trips to the beach, pizza parties, sunbathing poolside, Kool-Aid, Cokes, and ice cream. June meant picnics, Mickey Mouse, and the scent of chlorine in your hair. 

June was an icy glass sweating in the breeze of a high ceiling fan, sunburned thighs, dancing to the late-night radio in a still-hot kitchen under the blue-white hum of a fluorescent light.

June was hot hands plunged into an arctic ice chest, cold fried chicken on a park bench, and endless stretches of highway, burning in the sun. 

June seemed to come so slowly, shine so brightly, and leave too quickly, but our days were always the warmer and sunnier for it. 

 -- Dedicated to my grandmother, Catherine June Gettys (1920 – 2008)