A little List: June

A monthly, seasonal, curated list.

Dear Reader,

Each day, I pull on my boots and walk to the farm. Dandelion seeds drift upward in slow spirals, caught in the heat rising from the ground. The cicadas have returned, humming fills the air. Far off: thunder rumbles.

I can’t quite grasp the start of summer. Spring is so full of tasks, of body. Summer slips in through the senses. You notice it after the fact, like waking from a dream you didn’t know you were having.

I jot down fragments of thought to tether myself to it all—

May 13: The first poppy burst, cicada shells, the air is scented with rain and lemon basil seedlings crushed underfoot.

May 15: Red wing blackbird, smell of figs and green, rainfall, yellow iris, mallard—sapphire tucked under its wing, a mother's eye, rotting sweetness.

I go to the lake, to moss dotted with saxifrage. I hike Bearswallow, finding cows returned from winter. There, all you can hear is wind, power lines humming, grass tearing under grazing cows. I stop for strawberries and tomato seedlings.

I read beside waterfalls, tea cakes wrapped in cloth, the mist filling the air, fingers dipping into cold water. I hike in dresses, letting the hems get muddy. I sit still, long enough for goldfinches to forget I’m there.

The flowers I started in January are blooming. Time, then thick, now slips away.

I sit in the crook of my favorite tree. The sun is going. An ant crawls over my wrist, and I don’t brush it off.

And just like that
It’s summer.

If you’ve been reading for a while, you might recognize these little lists: books, films, poems, and small fixations or rabbit holes I’ve been following lately. I started making them seasonally to break through writer’s block during the spring rush on the farm, and now I plan to share one each month. They help me stay present, noticing what’s shaping the season and my thoughts.

So here’s June’s list: a big little collection of what’s been keeping me company in early summer.