In Honor of June, Dreamlike and Alive

“Given how much more quickly time passes with each year, I increasingly tell myself to hang onto this blessed month while it lasts.”

James Deagle
Write Under the Moon

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The Dream (1910), by Henri Rousseau. Oil on canvas, 204.5 x 298.5 cm (80.5 x 117.5 in). Museum of Modern Art, New York City. PD-US
The Dream (1910), by Henri Rousseau. Oil on canvas, 204.5 x 298.5 cm (80.5 x 117.5 in). Museum of Modern Art, New York City. PD-US

After all these years, something about the month of June continues to capture my imagination and inspire creativity. This fascination was hardwired into me in childhood, when June signified the approaching end of the school year, and a solid two months of sleeping in, walking outside barefoot, and afternoons lost to swimming, to comic books, and Mad Magazine, or even to hours with my closest friends, lovingly wasted on marathons of sitcom reruns recorded off TV onto VHS tapes. (Yes, binge watching existed long before Netflix.)

I haven’t been a full-time student since the early 1990s, and I don’t really take extended vacations anymore. Rather, as a working single dad, I take my days off where I can get them, or even steal a few hours of precious me time on the sly whenever the opportunity presents itself. Nevertheless, decades later, I’m still under June’s spell.

Beyond freedom from school, especially as I get older, I have always found June beguiling on its own, and in a way that has always left my senses feeling heightened. Perhaps it’s the weather, which in these parts often means scorching humidity all day…

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