Queen July
A disquiet engulfs me, ebs, wans, and then is gone like an afternoon breeze could just blow it away. Then a sense of time passing too quickly. And not at all. I frown at the garden and at my green thumb, reminding myself in an assured manner that the powdery mildew is probably, mostly not my fault and that I will do much better next year. Some call this a learning process, but I see it as thinly disguised failure. Better luck next year. A zucchini spine is lodged in my finger, I am rife with spores. Such a beautiful plant, hacked to pieces. The sunflowers crowd me. Enough with the judgment! I am July! On a fantastical journey up your stalk to the sky. It gets hotter and hotter as I get to the top. A bee carries me away in his pollen sac. I am honey, I am royal jelly. I am Queen July.