Thursday, June 3, 2010

Earlier this morning (or "Dear June")

When we forgot what the sun looked like we forgot that we forgot every year. In skips and bursts we recalled the word for this sky blue, the name of this light, yellow, or at the day's end, especially blessed, we said gold, as in precious, alchemical, our hearts in their bony cages lifting as the cedar boughs draped a new green and we could see the clouds making shapes, a child's puzzle billowing. We forgot that we forgot every year, the pall casting over, the galleries of gray, a flat stretch of time, and the lake abandoned.

Two minutes of real June lit candles in us and we were happy to say thank you, to smile until the weather blew in and we forgot.


Jane said...

Ah yes! So true, Joannie. How quickly we forget, and how eloquently you've recalled. Thank you!

T. Clear said...