Midsummer lamentations
june's journal entry
It has been unseasonably hot. I have been trying my best to douse thoughts of the world ending–but it is hard when all around you the trees are withering and the blackbirds are perched upon their branches, open-mouthed, panting.
The cross upon my neck cools my chest as I search for shallow dishes to fill with water for the creatures. My garden (which is more of a terrace than a garden) is almost in full bloom. Cornflower, stitchwort, cosmos, pot marigold, prickly thistle all grow in beautiful chaos. Ladybirds cling to the plump stems. A spider nestles amongst the petals of a cosmos. Caterpillars gorge on groundsel. My modest oasis looks odd against the landscape of yellow, scorched grass and wilting tree saplings. So many young trees already dead. Standing leafless and sun-baked, like rusted pitchforks.
Midsummer has made my dreams vivid and wild. June is a strange month after all. The longest day. Rebirth. Strawberry moon. The night in a constant state of twilight. Light always lingers. Sleep hardly comes. The veil is thin. Summer’s purgatory.
As I write this, a trilling skylark hovers above me. A milky white butterfly feasts on wildflower nectar. Tiny seedlings break through the soil. The sun is unbearably hot on the back of my neck.