JUNE is the smell of vine-ripened tomatoes that triggers memory after memory of watering my dad's garden to the setting California sun. And picking zucchini the size of baseball bats. It's morning sunlight and carefree wildflowers and fuzzy baby quail waddling along the back fence. It's cut grass and baseball and endless weekends. Summer storms and evening hikes and a renewed hope for romance, of course. And farmers markets and new yummy recipes and late nights with the windows open and the fire pit ablaze. And lots and lots of beautiful words on paper that come together only at dusk. (Maybe I should've waited till dusk to write this post.)
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