June

Almost halfway through this year that we’ve deemed 2018. My writing discipline remains strong. I hope yours does as well.

The day was cold yesterday, and the trees were whispering, “Winter is coming.” Damn, man, I thought, hope these trees are wrong. By all weather logic that’s been established, the trees should be wrong, but you know how the weather can go these days. Walking in my shorts — for I dressed as an optimist — the breezes darting up my legs to my nether regions made me shiver.

Today, though, the trees are whispering, “Summer is coming.” Smelling grass that reminds me of fresh cut watermelon, I feel relieved by the warm breeze and sunshine that kisses me. Today, I’m looking forward to summer while hoping it doesn’t grow into the smokey, hot oppression of the last several years.

Today, I’m hopeful.

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