Oh, today was one of those rare June days when the weather is perfect. After I mowed and weed-whacked (I hate weed-whacking), the lawn was perfect. too. We grilled out, and our steaks were perfect. These are the days we live for when it’s colder than … well, you know, when it’s the coldest third week of January on record. Midwesterners live for June days.
Ah, June. Nobody appreciates June like a Minnesotan.
After months of being cooped up in the house, June is when summer is unleashed.
Days are hot. Nights are warm. Lilacs bloom. The scent of lilacs wafting through the neighborhood is better than any perfume. Mix that with the smell of meat sizzling on the grill and you’ve got a little bit of paradise.
When I was a lifeguard, decades ago, the municipal pool was always most crowded in June. Ah, the pool. Suntan lotion. Skimpy swimsuits. Floating on the water.
But June bugs aside, June is a lovely month. My mother quoted a line from poet James Russell Lowell’s poem that sums things up:
And what is so…
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