June found me in the desert. It found me in the car. June drove, occasionally, but only when I didn’t want to go that way in the first place.
June found the floor of my house after ripping up the carpet to install laminate. It did not, however, stick around to finish the job.
June brought a new motorcycle in my garage that I don’t own, but had to fix. It found my motorcycle in parts and ignored it.
June read a kick as Sci-Fi novel one morning at the pub, pint in one hand.
June called twice, and left messages, but I never called back.
June was a wedding outside with five friends who have never needed tuxes to stand by each other. It was hot, but we were prepared. There was dancing and laughter and re-arranging furniture.
June found ice on Mars.
June never found time for a blog post, which is why this is in July. Or at least, that sounds good.
June taught me capoeira angola, watching as I did cartwheels, ginga-ed, and laughed until my body was sore in new and creative places.
June reminded me I am still young.
