3 whole days in June were sunny. Whole might even be a stretch. I didn’t recall the exact number until the observation was shared with me; nor did I have any reason to question the stats. June is one cloudy blur with a few lines of lightning. I apologize to Boston for discrediting it as a city with no good thunderstorms. For that it gave me a few.
Away from writting for far too long I recall so importantly now that most of the storms in my life recently have been less in the clouds that make me smile and more in the atmosphere of a move, the shift of a change in thought, and the swift moments better left for other stories. I am positioned now with more time and patience to write again; admittedly frightened by the rumbling start and lack of lightning flashes. The joy of writing is relatively fresh in my life; brainstorms of the recent past felt smoother and unending. The work likened to the consistency of June; an appreciation for strength to continue despite feeling somewhat out of place. Yet, here we are in July; fitful and sporadic. Showers and sun in no discernible pattern; thankfully, they are both washing off the rust.
